Noble Curse
by Tokyo the Glaive
Summary: To be a noble is to be in danger. Chrom knows this and fears for Lissa's life. He wants to guarantee her safety - but how? A bodyguard might do the trick... (Spoilers for Chapter Nine)
1. A Proposition

Chrom learned several important lessons early on in life. One of the most important was simple: nobles were always in danger.

Whether in peacetime or in war, nobles always faced plots on their lives and threats to their stations. Chrom had seen it first when he was still too young to understand what was happening but old enough to know that something was off. While waging war with Plegia, Chrom's father travelled everywhere with a small squad of his most trusted knights, even within the confines of his own palace. Furthermore, Chrom could not, at the time, grasp why he and his sisters were assigned guards after their mother died - and not because of illness or infirmity.

Her death led to the first execution Chrom ever had to witness. He asked his father afterwards why they had to kill a citizen of Ylisse. His father remained silent and impassive until the alleged murderer's feet stopped twitching, at which point he walked away, Chrom thought, grimly satisfied.

Chrom never saw what had been done to his mother's body, so the lesson remained partially unlearned. When Emmeryn ascended to the throne and became Exalt, however, Chrom witnessed first-hand another vicious example.

The sight of Emmeryn, his peaceful, kind, compassionate sister, left the populace frothing at the mouth not long after she was crowned. It wasn't just jeers and taunts about her age and gender that flew: there were fruit and stones alike, leaving scars and stains that never fully washed away, even if they were forgiven and masked by Emmeryn's endless humility and understanding.

If Chrom didn't understand it when his father was king, he certainly learned quickly when he witnessed Emmeryn, on the verge of tears but unable to cry in public because of her station, struggling to remain composed in a tomato-stained gown that was far too large for her yet-short stature while addressing a wild crowd who clearly took pleasure in her torment. He wouldn't forget the sight of her guards, either; though they "restrained" the crowd, they laughed at her, too. Chrom understood then: to be a noble was a curse, not a blessing. It was to be a moving target, the constant recipient of ridicule and threats.

Chrom's revelation coincided with the discovery of his hatred for the brand that distinguished him as one of House Ylisse. He, at least, could cover his up, and that he did often when he was young and furious at the world for what he perceived to be a radical injustice, that he should be born noble. Chrom dreamed of hiding, of disappearing among the masses and of being accepted in turn by them. Other times, he wished he could just vanish entirely.

Emmeryn, though, could not hide her brand. It was there on her forehead, as plain as day to see, and nothing could disguise her lineage. She could not turn away from the birthright she had never asked for. All she could do was accept her responsibility, and that she did with a grace and dignity that no one ever could have anticipated.

Her acceptance of her fate, and her will to make the world a better place, turned Chrom away from anger. He wanted to be like her, to have the strength of her convictions, and even as a child he strove to keep up with her. If she wasn't going to be bitter, then, gods damn it all, neither was he.

Chrom thought about all of this in his tent on the way back to Ylisstol. After helping Khan Flavia take the throne - Chrom still wasn't sure what the political ramifications of supplanting the previously-throned Khan Basilio were, but so long as Frederick wasn't making noise about it, he figured it couldn't be all that bad - he had insisted that they leave right away. He needed to relay the news of the support that had been promised from Regna Ferox to Emmeryn immediately.

Of course, if Chrom were being honest with himself, he would admit that there was another reason to leave.

Lissa hadn't noticed, but Chrom certainly had, and Frederick and Robin had made their insinuations. Emmeryn was safely tucked away in Ylisstol with Phila and the pegasus knights; Chrom was armed to the teeth at all hours and could fight back with the strength of a bear.

Lissa, at most, could hit an attacker over the head with a staff, if she was coordinated enough, and maybe scream loud enough to attract help, but only if she were lucky.

She had been the object of much attention both on the road and in Regna Ferox. The Plegian bandits they ran across targeted her on the field. That disturbed Chrom enough as it was, but even at the border pass, the Feroxi soldiers had watched her with special attention, speaking in hushed tones and laughing under their breaths. They had watched her, Plegians and Feroxi alike, their weapons unusually close and their eyes in indecent places considering she was a young lady, his _sister_.

Whether they looked at Lissa with lust or with murderous intent, seeing them made Chrom remember: even if her brand never surfaced, even if she would never feel the same kind of pressure as he or Emmeryn in the eyes of the public, she was still a noble, and she was still a target.

Chrom, laying back on his makeshift cot, put his hands over his eyes and groaned. The question he faced was what to do with the problem he had laid before him. He couldn't leave Lissa be and let the chips fall where they may. It was simply too risky for her, even amongst allies, to go without protection anymore.

The young lord's thoughts ran through his mind like water in a raging river. Frederick would accept the task of guarding Lissa without complaint or question. As skilled as he was, though, Chrom was realistic when he discounted him as an option: he was simply too devoted to Chrom. He feared that Frederick, when faced with a choice to protect either Chrom or Lissa in a life-or-death situation, would pick Chrom without regrets. Chrom could protect himself; Frederick was out of the picture.

Vaike was out of the question as well. He was too zealous and too proud to make it work. Also, Chrom admitted to himself, he didn't like the idea of assigning a young man to guard Lissa. There was _temptation_ there, and… Chrom didn't like to think about any of his Shepherds in a negative light, but he reasoned that he had to be cautious. It was Lissa: she needed to be safe. Stahl was out for the same reason. Robin still didn't have his memory back and was getting back into the swing of being alive, or so it seemed; he couldn't be the one to protect Lissa.

Of the women, Sully would have made a good bodyguard, but she trained with such single-minded determination that she often lost track of the world around her. She worked herself to the point of exhaustion before collapsing for the night, dead to the world for the next several hours while her body recuperated from the intense regimen she forced upon herself.

Chrom grew desperate as he mentally crossed off name after name. Sumia could be counted on in a pinch, but she was altogether too accident-prone and air headed off of the battlefield. Miriel was too wrapped up in her magical experiments - not the other day she had been so engrossed in her reading that she had nearly walked off a cliff. Grasping at straws, Chrom thought blindly of Maribelle, who would have gladly volunteered had she been with the Shepherds, but even she, in absence, was ruled out: she stood about as much of a chance against an assassin as Lissa herself.

That left…no one. Chrom sat up from his reclining position and held his head in his hands. Short of himself, he could think of no one who would be suitable to the job.

Unless…

Chrom felt an idea forming. It was possible - there was still one person. He pursed his lips, wondering whether he was making a good move, then made up his mind, clambered to his feet, and exited the tent.

Frederick was awake and tending to the fire. No one else appeared to be around to witness the knight in his element, watching the flames dance and crackle. Chrom approached without stealth so that he wouldn't be mistaken for an enemy.

"Milord, we will be back on the road to Ylisstol as soon as the sun rises," Frederick said. His face changed as he spoke, his features bordering on impassive. Chrom had noticed it several times before and wondered: he claimed he was so happy as a knight in the service, but was he not much happier with a simple bonfire out in the countryside?

"I know, Frederick. You should be sleeping, too, but I have business with Khan Basilio's man."

"You mean Lon'qu?"

"Yes. Him. Is he still awake?"

The name danced around Chrom's tongue but could not be vocalized. He wasn't intimidated by Lon'qu's laconic nature or his skill with a blade. What bothered Chrom was the way Khan Basilio had given him to the Shepherds, as if a human was just another bargaining chip in the game of war. In practice, maybe that was true, but still…

"It's likely," Frederick was saying, watching his lord intently. Chrom fidgeted under the attention, hoping that the knight didn't notice his anxiety. "He was here not a moment before you arrived, though he made to retire."

Chrom nodded by way of thanks and walked across the camp to Lon'qu's tent. The swordsman had set himself up on the edge of the campsite, far from the fire. The tent stood out from the Shepherds' because it was Lon'qu's own: Chrom recognized the symbol emblazoned on the front as that of the medallion on the swordsman's belt.

Many nights spent on the road had taught Chrom that knocking on a piece of fabric was useless. Instead, he called, "Are you in there?"

"Not yet I'm not. What do you want?"

Chrom jumped, spinning to look behind him. There, standing not ten feet away, was Lon'qu. The Feroxi man appeared to be at ease, though Chrom noticed that one of his hands had fallen to his blade.

"I didn't see you there," Chrom admitted. A silence grew between them as Lon'qu said nothing. The young lord's face flushed with embarrassment; he hadn't been expecting to stand outside of the a tent looking like a fool who didn't know up from down.

"I wanted to speak with you," Chrom tried again.

"I noticed," Lon'qu replied casually. "What do you want?" The repetition was not without aggravation, but it set Chrom at ease. At least he'd said something.

"It's something I noticed in Regna Ferox," Chrom said. Lon'qu's hand was falling from his blade. "You have…issues with women."

The hand curled into a fist in response to Chrom's words. His ears, too, colored bright red, the change of shade visible even in the dark. He gritted his teeth, trying to mask his discomfort, but it was too late.

"I don't-"

"You don't have to make excuses. If you didn't have this particular issue, I wouldn't be standing here right now."

Lon'qu shut his mouth and waited for Chrom to get to the point, clearly annoyed but unable to escape the conversation.

Chrom tried to work out what he wanted to say ahead of time, but he didn't want another long silence, so he settled for, "My question to you is, do you have a problem protecting a woman?"

Lon'qu stood so still that Chrom momentarily thought that he had vanished altogether. He had gone from flushed to pale in an instant. Chrom wasn't even sure he was breathing.

"What makes you think I can protect anyone?" The words were low and harsh, though Chrom thought that he might have detected a note of vulnerability.

"You can," Chrom insisted. _Because you have to._ "You're skilled with a blade - more so than most I've seen. That's why I want you to protect her."

"I refuse."

The point-blank denial made Chrom bristle. "I haven't even told you who I'm talking about!"

Lon'qu had screwed his eyes shut at some point, but whether out of misery or plain exasperation, Chrom couldn't tell. "It doesn't matter," the Feroxi man replied. "I'm no bodyguard, especially not for a woman."

"So you would leave my sister unprotected on the battlefield?" Lon'qu was silent as Chrom spoke. He tried to keep his voice down so that Frederick wouldn't pick up on the sound. "What about off the battlefield? What if there's a threat on her life or her-"

"Is she in danger?"

Chrom stopped himself short to answer the question. "Yes," he said simply.

"How?"

"Lissa is dear to Emmeryn and I. Our enemy knows this - she's a healer, not a fighter, and I can't watch her all the time. And…"

"And?"

Chrom looked at the ground. "She's a young lady," he said softly. "I've seen the way they look at her."

Lon'qu didn't ask who "they" were. When Chrom looked back up, feeling foolish and somehow exposed, Lon'qu wasn't looking at anything in particular. His face was as blank as Frederick's had been, and Chrom didn't like it. He was a blunt man who dealt with things out in the open: he couldn't deal with pent up emotions and words.

He breathed out loudly. "Listen, I'm sorry," he said, speaking even softer. "You already said that your answer is no, and you have a right to it, no questions asked. Lissa is my sister, that's all, and I worry for her. Forgive me. I'll find someone else."

Chrom made to leave, but Lon'qu posed another question.

"What about the others?"

"I didn't ask," Chrom admitted. "My sister is precious to me. Your condition… My sister would be safe around you."

Lon'qu nodded to himself slowly, movement coming back into his limbs. Chrom didn't know what either of them were waiting for.

Finally: "I'll do it."

"Really?"

"Does she know?"

Lon'qu was watching Chrom with an intensity he had never experience among allies. "About the threat? I don't know. She is very observant, but I doubt she'd tell me one way or another. She doesn't like to cause trouble, and she especially dislikes feeling like a liability."

"Good. We'll get along well."

"What, her on one side of the room and you on the other?" Chrom joked.

The look of agreement on Lon'qu's face told him that the scenario he'd conjured in jest might actually play out. He smiled; it would work out. Lon'qu was a good choice.

"You have my gratitude for this." Looking back toward the center of camp, he said, "We march at dawn. We should probably rest before then. … Good night, Lon'qu, and thank you."

The name still felt foreign and awkward on his tongue, but it had finally come out. If the swordsman had noticed how diligently Chrom had avoided his name, he didn't show it. Instead, he grunted, disappearing into the dark of his tent with an expression that was both tense and pensive.

* * *

Morning came quickly. The Shepherds ate, still groggy from the early-morning wakeup, and saddled their horses without much conversation.

Lissa was the usual exception. She was humming quietly to herself as she packed up her tent, a lullaby that their nanny had sung for them long ago. Chrom followed the notes as they came to him, remembering the song, only to be startled by the interrupting screech.

"Chrom!"

She sounded frightened, and he rushed to where her voice came from. His hands fell to Falchion mechanically, ready to fend off any attacker in an instant.

"Lissa?"

"Look!"

Chrom's arm just as quickly dropped from his sword as a smile rose to his face. Lissa's horse had already been saddled and prepared and stood tethered with the others' - though, Chrom noted with a low chuckle, it stood as far from Lon'qu's as possible.

The swordsman, for his part, was busy getting ready to leave. Lissa's screech seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, but Chrom knew better. After all, Lissa's horse hadn't been on the end to begin with, nor had it been so handsomely groomed since the Shepherds had left the palace.

After reassuring Lissa that no foul demon had worked on her horse and explaining to the Shepherds that there was no cause for alarm, Chrom himself got ready to leave. He did a last minute turn around the campsite with Frederick to make sure nothing important got left behind.

Chrom was satisfied: there was no sign that the Shepherds had camped on the road at all - with the odd exception of the bodies of two Plegians, if Chrom had to guess by the coat of arms he could see on the armor.

Frederick knelt beside the bodies, checking them over.

"Based on where they were, the probably intended to strike Milady's tent before they were waylaid. They were ambushed, based on the cuts, and by someone with incredible skill. I, for one, heard nothing last night. … Do you know of this, milord?"

Chrom shrugged. "We should go, Frederick. There's news to be relayed, after all."

Lon'qu's horse drifted close by. "…Is there a problem?"

Frederick looked between him and his lord with concern and distrust. He wanted to speak but Chrom interrupted.

"None at all," Chrom replied. "We'll be off immediately." Chrom gave a curt nod in addition, which the swordsman pretended not to see. Frederick knew then that some agreement had been made and was clearly hurt by the secrecy. Chrom wanted to apologize but couldn't: he knew that he'd made the right decision in passing over his loyal knight for Lon'qu. Lissa had to be kept safe, no matter the cost.


	2. Misplaced Trust

This isn't as prim and perfect as I'd like it to be (honestly, writing Frederick is possibly the most difficult thing I've ever tried to do in the Fire Emblem canon) but I couldn't get it out of my head. I'm in the middle of exams right now; I'll update again as soon as possible. Enjoy! Usual disclaimers apply.

* * *

Frederick had never learned how to relax.

As a knight, he stood out from most of his comrades because of his overwhelming zeal and his incessant need to help out in any way possible. When the strict Ylissean training regimen didn't dictate early morning exercises for the next day, Frederick didn't go out to a bar and end up drunk out of his mind. His lot didn't involve waking up the next morning with a killer headache in the arms of one of the supple tavern-wenches. Instead, he stayed behind at the barracks, making sure the weapons and supplies were in order and adequately maintained for training purposes. He did rounds on an empty camp, sweeping paths, checking the uniforms for holes in the cloth and scratches on the metal and leather, working well into the night on the most menial of tasks. And gods damn it all if he didn't wake up at the crack of dawn the next day to train, working himself to the very bone.

If it meant that he wasn't particularly close to the rest of the knights, Frederick insisted that he didn't care. He was doing his part for the good of the realm. In the end, wasn't that all that mattered?

His over-exuberance had won him the attention of the Exalt herself. Frederick privately wondered whether his superiors had praised him or begged her to get rid of him, but one way or another Emmeryn had appointed him to protect her two younger siblings not long ago. He had been ushered into the newly founded "Shepherds" and appointed Chrom's deputy at once. He had originally protested, and quite loudly: wasn't the role of the nobility to be in Ylisstol, the seat of governance? Frederick's mind could conjure any number of situations where the heir apparent would have to step in to fill the Exalt's shoes at a moment's notice. Even putting that aside, Chrom's idea, to go gallivanting off through the countryside checking on villages and cities, nobles and commoners alike to make sure that the country ran smoothly, seemed downright foolish. To be a noble in the public eye, Frederick thought, was to be in horrific danger. The front lines, whether in peacetime or in war, were for knights.

He had expressed so much to Emmeryn at the first possible moment. He remembered the ensuing conversation well: he had fought to keep his demeanor in check with the young Exalt, so close to him in age yet of such greater import, as he tried to explain as politely as possible that her little brother was liable to get himself and the rest of his friends summarily killed.

Emmeryn had smiled, and Frederick knew then that he'd lost the argument. She thanked him for his caution: that was, she explained, why she had chosen him over all others to protect her family. She could rely on him to be ever-wary of danger and mindful of the consequences of leading such a lifestyle as Chrom had suggested. That being said, she was fully in favor of Chrom's proposal. The Shepherds would make it their mission to travel the country and maintain peace.

Frederick had bowed and acquiesced. The Exalt knew the best course.

As Frederick settled into life with Chrom and the Shepherds, he found that he stuck out even more than he had before. There was, of course, the issue of class. It wasn't the hierarchy itself that he minded: it was the separation it created, a gap that could never be appropriately bridged by any degree of servitude. Chrom was a prince: heir to the halidom and bearer of the brand of House Ylisse, it would be no stretch of the imagination to say that he stood as the single most important man in all of the kingdom, perhaps even all of the continent. He was a noble among lesser nobles, too: Maribelle hailed from a prestigious family that had been founded around the same time as House Ylisse; Sully stood as the most recent in a long line of knights and lords; Ricken's family, though recently fallen on hard times, still bore several important titles with pride; and Sumia, if not precisely of noble background, hailed from far more than modest means.

Then, of course, there was Lissa. In spite of her high position, Frederick had heard rumors about her, most of them unkind. They called her a bastard child - a "natural" born, the result of an affair of the Queen's. They claimed she did not have the Brand.

Frederick gave those rumors no credence. The Exalt claimed Lissa as her little sister: that should have been enough for anyone.

The other Shepherds, to be sure, were of common stock. Kellam came from some godforsaken little village where he had worked on a farm before taking up the lance. Vaike came from one of the slums that had cropped up during the old war with Plegia and which now proved nigh impossible to eradicate. Miriel, for all of her edified education, had actually been born quite poor, though to a genius mother, or so she claimed. Stahl was the son of a simple apothecary. Robin came from nowhere.

All in all, Frederick stuck out. He wasn't a noble. He preferred not to speak about his childhood because it was something about which he preferred not to think. He worked harder than anyone else at everything to try to smooth out the differences, to try to devote himself entirely to his master - for that was how Frederick thought of Chrom now - but it was impossible. Because even if he did somehow transcend, even if he could make himself the perfect servant, there was still one glaring fact that would always set the others above him.

They had been chosen. They had been handpicked, in some cases plucked out of the dirt by some divine grace.

He had been assigned. Frederick could be an escort, a guardian, and a watchdog, but while the Shepherds could grow closer to one another and become friends, he could not. He was doomed, by virtue of his assignment, to stand on the outside.

He could do that. He was ready and willing to be the eternal knight, ever vigilant and watchful. He relished in the challenge and the service he would be providing. Even if he never achieved the same kind of relationship as others in the Shepherds, he knew that he would be of more service than they could ever be.

But gods _damn_ it all if he didn't deserve to be trusted just as much as the rest of them.

As Frederick rode (at the back of the party, as was his custom; it wouldn't do to be ambushed on the road), following Chrom's directive to return to Ylisstol as soon as possible, his eyes fixed involuntarily on Lon'qu's back while he thought things over. The swordsman knew how to handle a saddle well: he moved with the horse, not jostling or bouncing the way new recruits often did when they didn't know how to handle the beasts.

Frederick half-wished the laconic Feroxi would fall out of the saddle and make a fool of himself.

Of course, Frederick only wished that because he felt like he had somehow been played for a fool by the others. Something was afoot: Chrom was an open book to anyone who knew him, and it seemed for all the world that he was keeping a secret. Lon'qu was at the center of it: of that, Frederick was sure. Those Plegians hadn't been killed by the stroke of Naga. A human hand had cut them down, and Frederick was willing to bet his position in the Shepherds that it had been Lon'qu.

Chrom and Lon'qu, Lon'qu and Chrom - and a couple of dead assassins. They could have been going for anyone, but they had been closest to Lissa's tent. Frederick's mind slid the pieces around. Lissa was Chrom's sister. Lissa was a noble. Lissa was nearly defenseless by herself.

Though, Frederick added with pride, she would never be defenseless while he still drew breath. Lon'qu had no business skulking around outside of her tent. Maybe it hadn't been on purpose: she was a woman, and if Frederick had to judge, Lon'qu had a definite aversion to women on the whole. On top of that, he was a hired hand: he wouldn't do what he hadn't been ordered to.

So what had happened? Frederick reasoned that it could have just been a curious incident. Lon'qu killed two assassins while doing a patrol of his own, maybe for his own peace of mind. He didn't care where they were or how they had gotten there. Maybe he'd told Chrom about it afterwards - but then why would Chrom keep it quiet? Why not offer an explanation?

Perhaps the young lord simply hadn't thought it important enough, but if that had been the case, Chrom wouldn't be acting so strangely. Frederick could tell: he had a secret, he knew he did. Frederick's mind ran in and out, examining possibilities but coming up with no real solutions. As the Shepherds rode on and on along the Northroad, Frederick made a decision about the matter and swore not to think about it until it was time to implement his plan. A few questions would clear it up.

But Frederick had never learned to relax, and for hours on end, he fretted and worried and prayed for some outcome, he knew not what.

* * *

The Shepherds stopped only once for a quick lunch break before they resumed their southern course. Then, after many more hours of riding through relatively featureless countryside, the sun began to dip toward the western horizon, and Frederick breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't tired; his training had conditioned him such that he could have ridden for much longer. Lon'qu, Frederick noted with distaste, glancing quickly at this evening's target, could have done the same. Frederick did his best to shake the Feroxi from his mind. He was glad, he told himself, that he would be able to take some action instead of just worrying. All would be cleared up soon.

In the midst of his thoughts, he realized that he heard something unusual: a humming noise, one not at all unpleasant. It took him a moment - too long, he thought bitterly, chastising himself for his inattention - to determine the source.

The hummer was, of all people, Lissa. She was beaming ear to ear as she picked out the notes to a song Frederick felt he'd heard sung before. The strange part wasn't the song, it was the entire demeanor: Lissa didn't hold up very well on the road. Whether she liked it or not, she was the fragile one.

As if reading Frederick's mind, she turned him to him, breaking off her song. "You know, it's weird," she said, stretching her arms, "but I'm hardly sore at all! I mean, that was a really long ride, wasn't it? I can't put my finger on what made it different!"

"Maybe you're just getting used to the road," Chrom offered, approaching with a large bundle of firewood. The lord worked fast; then again, the sun wasn't taking its time in setting. Frederick redoubled his efforts to get the tents driven into the ground while there was still natural light.

"Nah, I think it's something else," Lissa responded. "Hey, are you sure someone didn't hex my horse?"

Ah, the incident with the horse. Frederick wondered which of the good Shepherds had been kind enough to outfit the beast for her. Darkness was falling fast, but even with the heavy shadows, Frederick could see Lissa's beaming smile, and he was grateful to whoever had done her the service. She was comfortable and happy - just like any princess was meant to be. He turned away quickly, though: after all, he wasn't watching her so closely as to notice how she walked with a certain spring in her step, or how she petted her horse with uncommon fondness and talked with Sumia about the animals for longer than she was wont to, or how even the wild game Sully caught for dinner didn't turn her stomach.

Chrom, however, was that attentive and asked, "What's got you in such high spirits? You're not usually this cheerful after a long march."

"Oh, it's nothing. I've just figured it out, that's all."

Frederick watched Chrom carefully. The lord had paled somewhat, the easy smile becoming more forced. It only served to confirm Frederick's suspicions: something was afoot, Chrom was involved, Lissa was involved, assassins fit in - and Lon'qu. He couldn't forget Lon'qu. The swordsman was eating silently close to Kellam, not looking at anyone in particular. Vaike tried to instigate a conversation with him, but he didn't speak. Fredrick's mind could be in both places at once, though; he returned his focus to the nobles' conversation.

"Huh?" Chrom had asked.

Lissa winked and put a finger to her lips. "I've got a guardian angel!"

"Guardian… What?"

"Guardian angel! You know, like someone looking out for you! Gosh, Chrom, sometimes you're really thick."

"Hey!"

"It's true!"

"Heh, fine," Chrom said, looking infinitely more at ease than before. "We'll see about that. If you've got some guardian angel, who is it?"

Lissa pouted and folded her arms. "It's not a person, silly. It's a spirit! Don't you remember anything about guardian angels?"

Chrom twisted his lips to fight back laughter. "No. Why should I?"

"Mother used to read us the stories, remember?" Chrom's face crashed, but Lissa was looking into the fire, deep in memory. Frederick froze at the mention: that subject had always been out of bounds. "The spirits sent by Naga to protect her people: those were the guardian angels! They do stuff like clean while you're sleeping and all kinds of impossible things. Don't you remember?"

Chrom picked himself back up enough to answer, "Cleaning doesn't sound very ethereal to me." This earned him a smack over the head with Lissa's healing staff. "Oof-! What was that for?"

"I've got an angel! Just you wait - I'll show you!"

Frederick was so busy watching his two charges bicker that he nearly lost his own footing. He tried to convince himself that he hadn't been fixated on the turn of Lissa's mouth or the way Chrom's eyes widened when he was relieved, but he couldn't lie, especially not to himself. It was his duty, he reasoned, that he should observe to closely.

Whatever was afoot, Lissa was part of it without knowing it, of that he was now sure. If she knew about the assassins at all, she didn't know how or why they were there or what had happened. As for the strange occurrence of the horse, Frederick had stopped believing in guardian angels when they had failed him as a child - there were human elements at work here, not divine ones. That, though, would be a different investigation. For now, Chrom had proven that he didn't want to talk about it openly; if he had, he would have by now. They'd had plenty of time. Frederick reasoned that he could get nothing from badgering his lord. All that he could do was wait: Lon'qu was still eating, and the rest of the Shepherds were still milling around. A couple more hours at most: he could wait that long.

* * *

By the time the last of the Shepherds finally turned in for the night, Frederick was at the end of his rope. Maybe they had picked up on some of his nervous energy (he was actually shaking - Lissa noticed and asked if he was running a fever) but they took longer than usual to call it a day. He dutifully tended to the fire and worked to preoccupy himself with his usual tasks, but his work was slipshod and his was disgusted with himself for both his inadequacy and his inability to relax. Not that, he thought bitterly, he ever could. The day was becoming more taxing than he ever could have anticipated.

It was only when Lissa fell asleep against Chrom's side and the lord, for his part, decided to turn in as well that Frederick found himself alone at last. Lon'qu slunk off not long after Lissa dozed off; until then, he had remained at the campfire, further out than most of the other Shepherds, watching the flames dance. He'd looked so absent that Frederick had almost approached him, but he had a plan, and he intended to stick to it.

With the lord and lady in their respective tents and the rest of the Shepherds fast asleep, Frederick stripped himself of his armor, keeping only his sword. Lon'qu hadn't disappeared so long ago: he would have to be close. Frederick made sure that the fire wouldn't spread before following the general direction the swordsman had taken.

He had planned on hunting the Feroxi like any other wild game - men were not so different than animals when they didn't want to be found. At least, that was the logic behind it all. Lon'qu's tracks, according to Frederick's expectations, proved initially easy to follow. They led into a dense patch of woods, generally sticking to a trail that Sully had, apparently, also discovered: Frederick could see her prints going forward and back, though after a certain distance there was only the steady stride of a Feroxi. However, those soon faded and then disappeared altogether. Frederick understood soon enough: the swordsman knew that he was being followed. An uneasy feeling crept up Frederick's spine, and he reached for the sword at his side. He couldn't see more than ten feet around him, and even that was shaded and dulled to the point that there were only dim shadows.

The fear kicked in then. If anyone could have seen Frederick's face at that moment, they would have witnessed a cross of terror and shame. He felt like a child, a stupid, foolish child, wandering alone in the dark in the woods against the wishes of his mother, not thinking about the consequences…

Something snapped. Frederick's ears were working overtime: he thought he could hear the very grass under his feet responding to his pulse. A twig, a branch - stepped on, no doubt, but by what? Human? Bear? Wolf? Frederick shuddered. Assassins and beasts surrounded his mind. He fought the urge to spin in place, knowing he would only become disoriented. If only he could think straight - but his mind had reverted; he was small and weak and frightened and alone in a forest he did not know, far from the loving reach of his mother.

But he wasn't: he was a grown man, far from the place he had called home as a boy; his mother had died of disease and his father of war - but now there was a blade at his throat. His thoughts stopped. There was a blade. At his throat.

Even in the dark, Frederick recognized the distinctive curve of the edge and lifted his hands in gratitude. Were it anyone else, of course, he would have been dead. The blade was lifted, and he turned.

"I can explain," Frederick began, but Lon'qu held a finger to his lips, motioning for silence. The knight, still feeling flushed and ashamed of himself, acquiesced. With a slight nod, he followed the Feroxi, keeping closer than he would have liked to admit, as the swordsman led them both out of the forest. Frederick soon discovered that the path Lon'qu had taken through the underbrush put them out close to Lissa's tent.

Only when they were in the open did Lon'qu speak, and even then he did not sheath his sword. Not wanting to look as much the lesser as he felt, Frederick copied the gesture, keeping the point close to the grass but the hilt firm in hand.

"Explain," Lon'qu ordered tersely, clearly displeased.

"I followed you out of concern for my lord."

The swordsman was neither impressed nor swayed by the explanation. Frederick felt his pulse working overtime; this hadn't gone as he had hoped.

"I wish to know what agreement you struck with my lord."

"You mean he didn't ask you first?"

Frederick eyed Lon'qu warily. While he hadn't been looking, the Feroxi's entire posture had changed. He looked a cross between surprised and livid - to be honest, Frederick had been unaware that the swordsman was capable of showcasing that much emotion at once.

"I do not understand the question."

"The girl, his sister," Lon'qu said, "he didn't ask you first?"

"My lord asked me for nothing."

Lon'qu took a deep breath in and exhaled, something akin to realization striking his features. "Of course. He said he hadn't, though I had assumed you were the exception…" Frederick waited for an elaboration that didn't come. Instead, Lon'qu said, "Chrom asked me to be the girl's bodyguard. He believes her life to be in danger."

Frederick's body flushed with a range of emotions he couldn't begin to process all at once. "What?!"

"He did not explain," Lon'qu said stiffly, and Frederick had the undeniable urge to call him a liar. _Something_ had to have been said, _something_ had been explained. "He merely asked me to protect her."

"And you agreed?" Frederick sounded more desperate than he'd intended, but he couldn't fix his voice. "I thought, what with your _condition_…"

Frederick thought he was hitting below the belt, but the Feroxi just regarded him with cool detachment. "Hey. I work for him. He tells me what to do. I do it."

"I thought you were Khan Basilio's man."

"I am. I'm on loan. So long as it acts in Ferox's interest, whatever orders I get, I take."

Frederick felt his shoulders drop. He realized now that this wasn't Lon'qu's fault, if it could be said to be anyone's at all. Lon'qu did what he was told. Rather like himself, Frederick had to admit. No questions, no hesitation - only action and endless devotion.

Looking at the swordsman, maybe devotion wasn't the best word. But he certainly did as he was told: nothing more, and nothing less.

"Thank you," Frederick said, the words feeling strange in his mouth. He felt deflated and sick.

Lon'qu made no direct response to the statement. "I'm going back out. Don't follow me again. You make too much noise."

Frederick was wordless as Lon'qu walked back toward the woods. His steps in the grass were soundless: he was a shade amongst the trees, and then he was gone, leaving Frederick feeling alone and very, very foolish.

_Relax_, he thought. _Someone's protecting Lady Lissa_.

He chuckled to himself in misery as he returned to his tent. That somebody wasn't him, and he had never learned how to relax.


	3. Protection

**AN**: This...took me way too long to write. Lon'qu is even harder to write for than Frederick... It's not perfect (apologies for any typographical errors; I went through twice to catch as many as possible but they always slip in here and there) but I'm posting it as-is because I want to wrap this project up and start on some other things that are rolling around in my brain. As usual, R&R is always welcome, I don't own Fire Emblem or anything licensed by Nintendo, etc., etc. Enjoy!

* * *

Speaking with Frederick had been a difficult affair. In comparison, the emptiness of the Ylissean forest felt like home. Painfully so, in fact: the climates of southern Ylisse and Chon'sin were not so different. There had been a grove of trees not far from the place where Lon'qu had been born; he and Ke'ri would go there often, sparring with whatever sturdy twigs they could find on the sun-dappled paths. Sometimes they were serious, but more often than not they'd laugh while they traded blows, nearly dancing with each other as they worked to forget the place to which they would have to invariably return.

Lon'qu banished the thought. He couldn't think about that. He didn't want to think about anything.

The Feroxi breathed deeply and steadily as he walked through the dark forest. Each tree was tall and straight up and down, the bark smooth until the branches began to sprout somewhere around two stories up. Thick ivy encased the trunks of many, in some cases climbing all the way up to envelop the limbs of the tree as well. They were unusually short branches, considering the breadth of the leaves they supported. The canopy formed by the leaves was high and nigh impenetrable: though the stars were visible that night from the campground, none could be seen in the thick of the woods. Ferns and grass covered the ground, and the dirt beneath them was scarcely visible. In the few places where there must have been the bare minimum of sunlight during the day, hedges tried to grow.

The night-sounds of the forest called to each other from all around. An owl hooted softly, and cicadas sang as if in constant response with their vibratory voices. Mosquitos, too, buzzed about, seeking fresh blood. Another insect - em_"Lightning bugs!" Ke'ri had decreed/em_ - the thought was squashed and retired. Countless specimens of a em_certain/em_ kind of insect filled the air further in, their bodies lighting up at regular intervals.

Finally and unexpectedly there was a meadow, a wide open space. Surrounded by an ellipse of trees, it seemed somehow at the heart of things. A pair of luna moths fluttered together, spinning dizzily in the air as if intoxicated. The sound of mosquitos buzzing disappeared, and their absence could be traced to the broad swath of air now visible without the canopy of leaves: up high, bats darted to and fro, eating voraciously as they flew about haphazardly.

For the first time since leaving the campground, Lon'qu sheathed his sword. There were to be no enemies that night. The Plegians, accustomed as they were to the open desert and the flat plains, knew not the art of stealth. Nature gave them away: where their boots touched ground, the birds fell silent and the insects refused to even hum.

Feroxi soldiers, Khan Basilio had once told him, had the same problem. They were used to fighting in the brutal cold across ice fields and in blinding blizzards. They had no need for the arts of the assassin: they faced each other head on in combat. That was, the khan explained, why Lon'qu would forever be an outsider. He could steal through the night and walk with utter silence: he would never be a Feroxi. He'd said it with a laugh. Lon'qu had felt a hurt he could not place.

_No_, Lon'qu thought, forcing his mind back into silence. He'd been doing so well, losing himself in what he saw. He tried to reclaim what he felt he'd lost by looking up at the sky. Here, at least, the stars were visible. They shone like diamonds in a dowager's gown, set in such a way as to catch the eye and hold it. Some of the Feroxi constellations were visible even in the south. There was the warrior Sigrit, the strongest man ever to live, who had supposedly been Ferox's first reigning khan. Close at hand was the mighty axe Armads, a legendary relic that had long ago faded from existence. It had allegedly caused Ferox's split into two kingdoms because the twin children of the last khan to rule over the united lands couldn't agree on who should take it up and fought a bloody war. (The legends varied, Khan Basilio had told him. The names of the children were lost to history, so no one could even determine the correct gender of the founders of each house. The stories also diverged on a rather important point: while many said that the war had been waged for the right to take up the axe, just as many speculated that, in fact, neither heir had wanted the "cursed" relic to begin with and subsequently fought over the right em_not/em_ to have it.)

The Feroxi swordsman sat down in the grass and shut his eyes. The air was damp and heavy, but it was also sweet. He recognized the scent: the fragrance came from a certain kind of flower. It was a plum blossom, he recalled. They had bloomed where they used to spar - he and Ke'ri - and she would pick the flowers whenever they appeared, in the latter part of winter or in early spring, to make little bouquets with them.

With a groan, Lon'qu laid back on the grass, already wet with dew, and put his hands over his face. He would be granted no reprieve tonight. His mind was set against him: it dredged up a past he didn't want and showcased it alongside the elements of the present he least liked. It didn't often happen like this, when his thoughts came as rolling waves that beat against him and refused to subside. With a little concentration, by focusing entirely on phenomena external to him and forgetting that he had a body and a mind at all, Lon'qu could usually push his memories off to the side, out of sight and mind.

He blamed Frederick.

He sat up. No, it wasn't his fault. Lon'qu grimaced. Maybe it was.

Damn the knight for giving him this trouble. He'd looked so pathetic, it had set Lon'qu on edge. That was it. And double damn the lord for starting it. He'd looked pathetic, too. In fact, the two had looked almost the same.

Lon'qu picked a blade of grass, watching as the luna moths reappeared before him. They tumbled through the air together for some time longer before separating, flying in different directions. Lightning bugs appeared in the growing space between them, blinking against the darkness.

He could handle this rationally. Just because neither lord nor knight seemed capable of dealing with anything by themselves didn't mean that he had to be equally weak. All he needed to do was sit and think and the answer to all of this would come to him.

Frederick wanted to protect someone who he cared about. Lon'qu would have been a liar if he'd said that he didn't find it admirable. But Frederick hadn't been chosen for the task. Why? Chrom had offered his reason, scanty in proof though it was: the girl would be safe with him. Gynophobia, indeed.

But there was no reason to think that Frederick would ever harm the girl. He was a seasoned, loyal, dutiful knight, so far as Lon'qu could tell. A man of upright character and moral bearing. He was powerful, too, an absolute demon on the battlefield. If anyone had to point out the strongest member of the Shepherds, all hands would immediately turn to Frederick. He was strong, quick, and incredibly skilled. When he told his enemies to pick a god and pray, friend and foe alike knew that it was all over.

A walking wall of steel with a heart of gold. Lon'qu had to scoff, but it was true: for a bodyguard, no one could do better. Guarding required some degree of em_proximity/em_, and… He wasn't interested. Frederick would be perfect.

It seemed so simple. All he had to do, he reasoned, was tell Chrom to reassign the job. He would suggest Frederick. The deed would be done; getting away from the petite cleric who he'd been assigned to guard would be a bonus. Her horse, at least, was well-tempered, but the little noble herself wasn't someone Lon'qu had any desire to become close with on any level. The less attention he was forced to pay to the girl who, by virtue of her healing staff, had to accompany them on the battlefield every day, the better.

Lon'qu nodded to himself as he began the walk back to the campground. It was an easy solution. Clean. Nearly effortless. He'd take care of it in the morning.

* * *

Perhaps it was not so simple.

Two weeks passed before Lon'qu could even find the time to speak to Chrom at all. The Shepherds arrived in Ylisstol just in time to discover that a nobleman's daughter had been taken across the Plegian border and was being held hostage. Then assassins struck the palace with an admittedly ingenious plan to kill the Exalt. It would have worked had Chrom not been tipped off in advance by an anonymous source. Then the Shepherds had tried to relocate the Exalt, only to have the armies of Plegia lay siege to Ylisstol. Now the Exalt herself had been kidnapped while Chrom was back in Regna Ferox bargaining for soldiers.

Needless to say, things had been busy. Lon'qu had cut Risen and brigands down left and right, sticking closer to Chrom's younger sister than he otherwise would have liked. She was catching on, he knew. She had tried to talk to him on several occasions, but he had brushed her off. It couldn't continue much longer.

It was late at night when Lon'qu finally heard that Chrom was free enough to speak with anyone other than Robin or one of the khans. The Shepherds, after a quick bout of negotiations that had mostly consisted of both Khan Basilio and Khan Flavia being considerably more level-headed than usual, were set to march at dawn with a sizable Feroxi army behind them. A Ylissean force would be gathered after the march began; the army could then take Plegia by force. Chrom had wanted to set off the moment Robin finalized a plan of attack, but an unexpected snowstorm, a phenomenon that the Feroxi termed the White Winds, had struck just after sundown, forcing the entire garrison to stay at the capital at least until morning.

As Lon'qu walked to where Chrom was housed, he had to hand it to Khan Flavia: she had worked up a fair bit of what could only be termed magic to make things look better than they were. All of the Shepherds had been crammed inside the fortress that functioned as the eastern palace and, where possible, were given rooms of their own. Lon'qu shook his head at the thought: even the horses had been stabled inside to ensure that they didn't drop dead from the frigid cold. That, he thought bitterly, was a luxury afforded to few Feroxi. Conditions in the northern regions had never been good, but following the shift of power from West to East, Lon'qu had heard that things were worse than ever. Regna Ferox's history was as long as it was bloody, and the nation had fought more civil wars than every other country in existence combined, the conflicts often stemming from the shift of the throne. Regna Ferox, Khan Basilio had told him, was like a pile of dry straw in the summer: all one needed was a single match, and all would go up in flames. The weather and the Risen certainly weren't making anything better: it was colder than it had been in years, and villages that managed to raise crops or ration their stores found themselves attacked by either the infernal undead corpses or farmers who had turned to pillaging to get by. It was a veritable perfect storm.

And yet, Khan Flavia still kept up a good face. There was a feast, admittedly not as grand as she would have liked, for the benefit of the Shepherds that evening, and she had pulled out all of the stops to make it a comfortable stay. It probably helped that Khan Basilio was helping rather than hindering.

All thoughts of Ferox's state of affairs vanished as Lon'qu arrived in front of Chrom's door. It was slightly ajar; the swordsman narrowed his eyes. It was dark within, and he could hear no sounds. A hand dropped to his blade while the other pushed the door all of the way open, ensuring no assailant could appear from behind it.

The room was empty except for Chrom, who stood in absolute silence by the room's single window. He appeared to be looking out at the rapidly piling snow, although his features were difficult to ascertain in the darkness. The room was in complete disarray. The desk maintained some semblance of order, but the blessed blade Falchion lay on the floor, unsheathed, alongside the half cloak Chrom was fond of wearing. The sheets had been ripped nearly off of the bed; it appeared that Chrom planned on sleeping on the floor. Khan Flavia would have been embarrassed and possibly hurt to see such a blatant rejection of her hospitality. Lon'qu, for his part, wouldn't be the one to tell her.

Chrom made a sound that sounded like a stifled question, then said, "Oh, it's you. How can I help you?"

Lon'qu hesitated, wondering if he ought to wait. "Were you expecting someone?"

Even in the dark, Lon'qu could see the circles under Chrom's eyes. The news about the Exalt's impending execution hung heavy over his head.

"Lissa," Chrom answered. "I figured she'd drop by at some point." He fidgeted, his fingers twitching with nothing to do. He settled for scratching at his arm, tracing the lines of the brand of House Ylisse. The silence that settled bothered Lon'qu, and he decided that it was up to him to break it.

"I wanted to ask you," he said, "about the job." Chrom was silent. Lon'qu grimaced. The noble wasn't exactly loquacious, but he was usually more talkative than this. Once again, he considered whether or not it had been imprudent to ask on that particular evening. He sighed audibly, and Chrom finally looked at him. Lon'qu realized that he had started this: now he needed to finish it. If he walked out, it would be too difficult to restart the conversation.

"I believe you should reassign it to Frederick," Lon'qu suggested.

Chrom's eyes narrowed sharply. "Why?"

Lon'qu was prepared with his explanation. "He is strong. Dedicated. He will not harm her."

"Are you saying that you're incapable of protecting my sister?"

The words were harsh - harsher, perhaps, than the lord had intended. "You twist my words. I said no such thing."

"Then why?"

Lon'qu considered telling Chrom what had happened: how Fredrick had snuck off, how hurt the knight had been to discovered that he'd been passed over for the task that he performed without fail every single day. And he em_had/em_ been hurt.

But he couldn't come out with that. That moment had been…private. Lon'qu didn't know why, he only knew it to be true. He tried a different tactic.

"Is there a threat to her life?"

"Huh?"

Lon'qu hated repeating himself. "Listen. You give orders, I cut people. That's our agreement. Only, there have been no people to cut. Is there truly a plot on her life?"

"You saw for yourself! The assassins that you killed that morning-"

"-were unskilled brigands who probably didn't know whose tent they were about to raid. They were no professionals."

"How do you know?"

The accusation was heavy, but Lon'qu shrugged it off. "I ought to. I killed them. You see a man's true nature when you kill him."

Chrom's face screwed up as if about to make an angry retort, but he fell silent as Lon'qu's words hit him. The Feroxi watched him from his post at the doorway without mercy. It had only been a guess, but it appeared as if he'd been correct: Chrom had assigned his sister a bodyguard under the pretext of danger, while in reality all he really wanted was someone to keep an eye out for her at all times. Lon'qu grimaced. Nobles. They never said what they meant. They always thought they had to lie, to dramatize everything, to get attention the attention they wanted. Idiots.

"What would you have me do?" Chrom asked quietly. "She's my sister."

"She's not my problem," Lon'qu snapped, his words harsher than need be. "She already has a willing bodyguard. Let him do it."

Chrom sunk his head in his hands and cradled it. "Please don't do this now."

The words seemed so strange coming from Chrom's mouth, Lon'qu didn't know what to do with them. His first reaction was to assume that he was being mocked, and he replied accordingly, "I have no intention of being her guard forever."

But then Chrom shifted, sinking to his knees on the floor. He rested his thighs against his feet as he stared at the floor. "Please," he repeated. Lon'qu could say nothing. "Please. If only until someone else strikes. I know they're after her." His voice cracked. It was pathetic, em_pathetic/em_, and- "Just… Keep her safe. I know we'll rescue Emmeryn, but I… I'll only have one sister left to protect if something goes wrong. Please."

It took a few moments for Lon'qu to realize that his lips were moving without parting as his brain tried to formulate something to articulate. What could be said? Nothing. Chrom was the one on his knees, but he had Lon'qu up against a wall: he had someone who he had to protect. Didn't he have a right to that? Didn't everyone?

"Get some rest. I have rounds to do." Lon'qu turned his back on Chrom, looking both ways down the hallway. "We'll settle this at a later point."

Chrom shifted inside the room, but Lon'qu wasn't looking. The Feroxi sank his shoulders and cracked his neck. It was going to be another long night. Steeling himself against thoughts of the comfortable room Khan Basilio had set aside for him, he walked - without a sound - down the hall. Lady Lissa's room wasn't far.


	4. A Little Spy

So, this isn't my longest section, but it had to be finished up. It's been rotting on my hard drive since I finished Lon'qu's piece. I never put it up here because I was working at an arts camp that has no internet. Now that I'm home, I'll be updating regularly again (and with longer chapters-I know this one is a little short). Usual disclaimers apply. Please enjoy!

* * *

Lissa had known that something was up from the beginning.

…Okay, maybe not since the _beginning_. Maybe she had kind-of-sort-of-almost-definitely believed that she had one of her mother's guardian angels following her around, making her life easier. But as time had gone on, she'd have been an idiot not to notice: that swordsman was _always there_. On the battlefield, Lissa figured it made sense. They were fighting the same fights, after all. But whenever they pitched camp, even Lon'qu's tent would be within sight of Lissa's. After his oh-so warm reception of her when they'd first met, she had soon noticed his change in behavior.

Well, once again, maybe not immediately. But she had figured it out: she had a new guard, and his name was Lon'qu. Otherwise, she had a creepy stalker and his name was Lon'qu, but Lissa didn't find that very likely, so bodyguard he was. The little princess wondered why Chrom had left it to her to figure out that she had a new guardian. She'd given him several opportunities to come out and tell her, but he'd dodged her every time. It seemed strange not to say anything to her: after all, she was the person meant to be protected. It worked better when the protected knew who to turn to if trouble came knocking.

Even if Chrom decided never to tell her, though, Lissa knew that she was right, and that night in Regna Ferox, she meant to prove it. A campsite was large and had a perimeter that could be patrolled; a fortress in the middle of a pretty awesome snowstorm, on the other hand, was a contained space. It was logical to do it that night, too, because, well - because that's what all spies did, of course! No one did their spying during the day; if they did, they would be just _asking_ to be caught.

The little princess sat on the edge of her bed, prepared for her stakeout. Adjusting her skirts for comfort, she settled into her position. He'd have to come close sooner or later. When he did, she'd be ready.

* * *

It turned out to be later rather than sooner. Lissa had planned on staying up to catch just a glimpse of the swordsman at work, but she had maybe - and the possibility there was pretty big - fallen asleep with her candle still burning. She wasn't sleeping deeply, though, because when her ears first picked up the sound of very light steps, she had thrown off her blankets and swung her feet over the edge of the bed to meet the frigid stone of the floor. Her mind, though, hadn't caught up with her body: her first thought was that she wasn't at home in Ylisstol, and the second was that there was no reason to go to the door because Chrom would have knocked and Emmeryn, with her light steps just like the ones Lissa thought she'd heard, wasn't there. Still half asleep, she chided herself for getting up and got back into bed, blowing out the candle for good measure. She yawned as she decided that it had only been one of the Shepherds pacing outside the door.

One of the Shepherds. Lon'qu. Bodyguard. Staying up late to catch him in the act. If Maribelle hadn't been so adamant to insist that cursing was the antithesis to nobility, Lissa would have let out a string of some of the worst that she'd learned from Sully. She'd gone and fallen asleep and totally forgotten about her mission.

Lissa rubbed her eyes and groaned. It had been the perfect opportunity to catch Lon'qu. Lissa hadn't been eavesdropping or anything, but earlier she'd heard Khan Flavia explain to Chrom about the peculiar nature of the castle, and that's when she'd hatched her plan. The Feroxi were born brawlers and barbarians who had no need for stealth, Khan Flavia had bragged, but the eastern castle had an unusual feature that occasionally proved helpful: it echoed, she had said, like you wouldn't believe. Even Lon'qu, Khan Basilio had added - the swordsman would have bristled under the attention had he been nearby - couldn't sneak around in there. It had something to do with the stone used to build it. Neither of the khans had any idea what it was: apparently, the fortress had been around longer than Regna Ferox itself.

Thinking about that just made Lissa more angry at herself. Normally, she probably wouldn't have been able to hear her bodyguard sneaking around, but in the eastern castle-! There was a keyhole in the door that she'd planned on spying through and everything just like in all the adventure books Sumia had lent her! Pouting, Lissa sat up. He probably wasn't going to come back. She'd have to wait for some other opportunity.

Now too anxious to sleep, Lissa looked around. The darkness made it seem like the room had no ceiling, just walls that reached up into infinity. The room was cold, though not nearly as bad as it was outside. She peered out of the little window in the room and into the courtyard down below. There was so much snow, and it was incredibly deep already! It didn't snow all that often in Ylisse. Lissa would have liked to have played in it, but Khan Flavia had been clear about the dangers of the White Winds. Lissa shuddered to think of how it would be to live in a place like Regna Ferox, where most people weren't afraid of even the toughest fights but where a single storm could bring the entire nation to its knees.

Lissa was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she almost didn't hear the footsteps as they came back the second time. She froze as she listened, then bolted to the door. The steps were steady, but they were moving away from the door this time. The walker had already passed.

But, Lissa thought, if the walker was Lon'qu and if he'd passed twice, who was to say that he wouldn't pass again? Maybe he was pacing! If so, she still stood a chance to confirm that he was her "guardian angel". She giggled to herself. It was too much fun.

She waited by the keyhole, listening intently to the amplified footsteps. Whatever Chrom thought about her patience, when she put her mind to it, she could wait as long as she had to. She remembered all of the time she'd spent collecting frogs to prank Robin with, and boy had _that_ taken a long time! - but there were the footsteps again, coming closer now. She knelt and looked through the hole.

What she saw confirmed it: though she couldn't see the full body or even clear details because of the narrow hole and the lack of light, there was the red sash, held up by that strange metal sigil, tied over the blue robes of the Feroxi swordsman. The walker was Lon'qu all right. Her bodyguard was doing his nightly rounds.

Satisfied, the little cleric climbed back into her bed and pulled the covers around her shoulders. Her stake-out had been a success! As she began to doze back off, she wondered what she should do with the information that she'd gathered. Maybe she'd tell Chrom and show him that she wasn't as unobservant as he thought she was. Or maybe she'd tell Robin and force Lon'qu to fight closer to Lissa - maybe she could cure his fear of women! Lissa's allowed her mind to swim with possibilities that became less and less realistic until she entered the realm of dreams and slept soundly through the rest of the night.

* * *

Lissa's first thought upon waking the next morning was that she was a horrible person. Emmeryn had been captured by the enemy. She repeated that to herself, over and over again. She had been there when the khans had given Chrom the news last night, but…

She shut her eyes against the bright sunshine of the morning. It hadn't sunk in until that moment. While she'd been playing games and spying as if she were in a bad novel, her sister was rotting in some dungeon. Lissa's stomach turned, and she wanted to throw up. She hated herself for being so childish. There had probably been meetings last night to come up with rescue plans. Lissa could have made herself useful, or at least acted as if she knew what was going on. At the very least, she ought to have gone to see Chrom.

But she hadn't. She'd wanted to prove something silly, and she'd gotten her opportunity. All the while, Emmeryn was far, far away from any home either of them had ever known.

Lissa laid back down in bed and put a pillow over her face. She could hear voices outside her room - there were Sully and Stahl, and they were _laughing, _probably putting on brave faces. She couldn't do that, not after the full weight of Emmeryn's fate had hit her. She pushed the pillow down further and curled into a ball.

* * *

Chrom was the one who came to get her.

"Lissa?" he called, a little loudly, as he knocked at the door. Lissa realized that she must have fallen back to sleep. "Are you in there?" She made a noise that was supposed to be a response, but even she didn't know what she'd said. The door opened and closed. Lissa peered up at her big brother.

"You haven't slept," she said softly.

"You don't look any better," he replied. "Are…you all right?" Lissa responded by curling herself into a tighter ball. Chrom sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair. "It will be fine," he said, his voice cracking at the end. "Everything will be all right."

Lissa's lip shook, and she lunged at her brother. All of the tears that she'd saved up over the last few hours since the truth had hit her spilled out in between hiccups. "I'm horrible," she said. Chrom spoke, but she wasn't listening. "They all said she was gone but I didn't really think about it so last night rather than pray for Emm I was playing and looking for my guardian angel and I was so proud when I found him but Emm is _gone_ and I didn't do anything and I-I-"

"Lissa," Chrom said, holding her still. "Take a deep breath." The little princess shook her head, and Chrom pulled her in for a crushing hug. "Everything will be all right," he repeated. Lissa realized he was trying to convince them both, and she hugged him back.

"I miss Emmeryn." Lissa's voice was pitiful.

"I do, too. We'll get her back."

"Do you promise?" Lissa's hiccups were subsiding.

"I promise."

Chrom was quiet for a little while.

"Lissa, I just want you to know… I-I was worried about you, and…"

Lissa looked up without letting go of her brother. "Chrom?"

"That's why I didn't tell you," Chrom said. "About Lon'qu."

"So I was right!" Lissa perked up for a moment, then slumped over, remembering that she had no business being happy about the discovery of her "guardian angel"'s identity.

Chrom let out a few sounds that sounded like a laugh. "How did you find out?"

Now that she was breathing normally, Lissa took the time to explain her night adventure to Chrom. She exaggerated a few things when she saw that Chrom was amused by it. In the end, though, she tried to apologize again, and Chrom cut her off.

"Lissa, stop. Listen to me." Lissa fell silent. "It's not a bad thing that you decided to play a little game last night. It's better than falling into despair."

"But Chrom-"

"No, Lissa. I mean it. Emm is going to be all right. Robin has a plan, and it's going to work. There's no reason to be sad, so smile, will you?"

Lissa thought for a moment, then grinned widely, if only to please her big brother. He was trying so hard. "If you say so! Emm, we're coming for you!"

"That's the spirit!"

A knock on the door fractured the moment: "Chrom, can I speak with you?" It was Robin's voice; the strategist sounded as spent as any of them.

"Just one second." Chrom looked from the door back to his sister. "Are you going to be all right?"

Lissa nodded, and Chrom stood, taking that as his signal to go. "Wait!"

Chrom turned back around. "Lissa?"

The little princess made a face. She was embarrassed to ask, but she felt she had to. "I know why you'd give me a bodyguard, but… Why him?"

"Huh?"

"Why Lon'qu?"

"Because," the lord answered with a smile, "he was just catching butterflies. He had nothing better to do."

"But why not Frederick?"

Chrom's face was such that Lissa immediately regretted the question. Chrom responded, though, before she could take it back.

"I wonder that myself, now that I've made the decision." The lord hesitated, and Lissa found that she couldn't fill the silence. "I may yet change my mind. After all, Lon'qu is Khan Basilio's man, not ours. For now, though, he's your bodyguard. You should talk to him at some point. He doesn't know that you know."

"Gotcha!" Lissa replied. Chrom was out the door seconds later. As soon as he was gone, Lissa slumped forward.

Emmeryn was going to be all right. Everything was going to be all right. It was okay to play around and have just a bit of fun.

Even though she still felt odd about it, a true smile rose to Lissa's face. There was still plenty of hope-and fun-to be had. She figured that she didn't have a whole lot of time before the armies of Ylisse and Ferox began their march, but once they set up camp…! A camp was big, and with so many people, it would be more difficult than usual, but still. Lon'qu was her bodyguard. He'd have to stay somewhat close.

They were going to have a little chat, the swordsman and the princess. He would be her distraction. Lissa actually cackled at the thought. Oh, the fun she'd have!


	5. Buoyancy

Another chapter, back at Chrom's point of view. Just as the game has a little temporal shift between chapters 7 and 8, there is one here; this scene is meant to take place shortly before the army comes across Nowi and Gregor. I had a good time with Maribelle's scene and Vaike's cameo; maybe a little too much fun, come to think of it.

At any rate, usual disclaimers apply: I do not own Fire Emblem, though I sorely wish that I did. This story, on the other hand, belongs to me. Do not steal. Yadda yadda yadda. Reviews are always welcome; please enjoy!

* * *

The march from Regna Ferox to Plegia was uneventful. While the Plegian border patrol put up a decent fight, the Shepherds often went several days without encountering even a small contingent of the Plegian army. The little resistance they did meet was paltry and proved no match for them. Robin hypothesized that perhaps King Gangrel had begun marshaling peasants. Chrom thought that it was unlikely, but he did find it odd that they hadn't faced so much as a challenge upon crossing the border.

Travel within the country, however, was brutal. Plegia's borders encompassed a large, arid peninsula. Though some areas were pleasant enough, with flat plains and tall grasses that extended for miles on end following clear rivers and streams, most of the land was covered with vast deserts. The Plegian sands were fine and thick. The horses found it difficult to even walk, and that impeded all forward progress. Men on foot had an easier time of it, but even they could not move fast. Those who could call upon magic to guide their path could do so, but they faced a simple dilemma: they could not go forward without the group. It didn't make sense to put a distance between them and the rest of the army that could prove dangerous.

The army's slow movement meant a dwindling lack of supplies, to say nothing of morale. Food stores were rationed and rationed again. Water proved an even bigger problem. There were countless deep arroyos and dry spring beds that tempted the soldiers, but there was not a drop of water to be found.

To make matters worse, it was hot, and swelteringly so. With no shade and no water and no quick way to move forward, the rays of the sun felt like daggers in the air.

The combination of everything - weather, no combat, little food or water, and troop dissatisfaction - had Robin at wit's end.

"I don't understand," the strategist seethed, holding a map against the sun as if to block it. "How come this hellhole exists side by side with an oasis? Ylisse is _not_ like this; conditions should be exactly the same. This doesn't make sense!"

Chrom sighed. "Robin, you've been saying the same thing over and over again for days now. You're starting to sound like Lissa. Khan Basilio told us that it's the dry season. It's supposed to be like this."

"He also said that it's always the dry season down here," Robin muttered, "except for about two weeks when the country is absolutely flooded."

"It's a different place," Chrom reminded the despondent strategist. "It's not Ylisse. You can't expect it to be the same, even if they are close by."

"I know, I know." Robin blew at a strand of hair. It was a still day, so hot that the air crackled with heat. "But if I stop thinking about the weather, I'll start thinking about everything else. We're nearly out of water, you know. And food. And energy." Robin's head sunk to lean on the neck of the strategist's exhausted horse. "We've lost four horses, two men from overheating, one to insanity-"

"Vaike isn't mad, he's just stir crazy. I think everyone's starting to feel trapped in this desert."

"Or maybe he's just stirrup crazy. Most of his delusions center around horses being infernal beasts."

Chrom smiled. "Look on the bright side, Robin. We're still making better progress than you anticipated. We'll be at the capital soon."

"To be honest, that's no accomplishment. I hadn't put expectations for progress that high," Robin grumbled. Chrom goaded his horse to a slightly faster pace before the strategist could remind him of the harsh reality: if they reached the main body of the Plegian army without food or water, they'd be crushed in a matter of minutes. They needed some fresh supplies, and they needed them yesterday.

Though he was aware of all of his army's troubles, though, Chrom wasn't stressed by the situation. In fact, his mood was rather odd. He'd started out the long trek to retrieve Emmeryn with a heavy heart and with anger bubbling in his blood. The first few days he hadn't even felt like himself: he was furious at the Plegian King for being more monster than man, furious that a large army couldn't move as fast as he was used to with his small band of Shepherds, and furious at the world for daring take Emmeryn from him.

Somewhere along the path, though, he'd calmed down. The daily journey, ever moving forward, gave his body a different rhythm. His mind stopped racing. He had realized that the sun still felt good on his face, that the wind still breathed with the same tenderness. If he had to describe it, Chrom would say that he just had this feeling in his chest as if everything were fated to come out all right.

Robin had pointed out all of the risks of the campaign early on: the army was vulnerable and would continue to be vulnerable until they hit a string of towns close to the capital. Hopefully, they could find some succor there. Khan Basilio had warned Chrom that the people might need to be strong-armed to offer any kind of aid, but Chrom refused to believe that it would come to that. All-most-people were good deep down inside. They would offer their assistance.

Overall, Chrom felt optimistic. No, it went beyond that. He felt buoyant. Light. Robin had laid out a plan to rescue Emmeryn, and Chrom had faith that it was going to work. He trusted his Shepherds to do their job. It was that simple.

When he had described how he felt to Lissa, she had told him to come closer so that she could check him out for heat exhaustion. She said that she didn't want to have to deal with another raving lunatic like Vaike.

Chrom didn't think his happiness had anything to do with the heat, though. He just felt good about what he was doing. Finally, he was going to be able to do something for Emmeryn, something for her and her alone. He was going to save her, and they were going to go home together. Everything was going to be all right. He just had a feeling.

* * *

Nighttime on the Plegian sands was a different beast than daylight. When the sun went down, the air grew frigid, to the point that several Feroxi warriors claimed that, if one substituted snow for sand, it felt just like home. Out in the desert, the sky was so clear that Chrom could see stars in familiar constellations that he'd never seen before. When they'd first started out, he hadn't noticed, but now, he found himself fixated upon them. They were shining down on him. They would show him the true path.

Chrom's army set up camp in the shade of one of the many great skeletons that dotted the desert. The purpose of such a set-up was twofold: first, the sand there wasn't so hot when setting up, and two, it wouldn't become as hot as fast when the sun rose. It struck everyone as a winning arrangement, and so it was settled on almost without discussion.

That night, as they set up camp, they were fortunate enough to find several dead trees not far from their skeleton encampment. They harvested enough wood for the night and some extra for the future with gratitude; finding firewood in the desert had proved difficult.

As Chrom ate his tiny ration of food - the desert also wasn't the ideal place for catching game - he considered his newfound optimism and clarity. He had a vision of what was going to happen, and he felt absolutely sure that it was going to come true. He'd always had faith in his Shepherds, but as they traversed the Plegian desert, he'd found himself more trusting of his soldiers than even he was wont to do. Together, they could accomplish anything. The words "indestructible" and "unbeatable" came to mind, though he did the best to shake them away. Accumulating ego was the last thing he needed to be doing.

Chrom's gaze fell on Lon'qu and Lissa. Ever since his conversation with her in Ferox, she'd tried her best to get up close and personal with her bodyguard, with humorous results. She had publicly declared that she would "cure" his fear of women: Chrom supposed that she meant to do it by sheer force of will. Frankly, he didn't put it past her to succeed.

Lon'qu, for his part, was entirely uncomfortable with the situation, though he appeared to have accepted his role for the moment. After the swordsman's first real conversation with Lissa, Lon'qu had pulled Chrom aside. Chrom had presupposed that he was going to be asked to find a different bodyguard again, but what he got was a surprise:

"You told her I was chasing butterflies?!"

Chrom could only blink. "Huh?"

"Your sister. You told her that you picked me because I had nothing better to do. She mentioned…butterflies."

The pieces assembled in Chrom's mind. "Oh, yeah, that. I didn't think she'd remember, honestly. It was just a joke. Funny, right?" Lon'qu wasn't laughing. "Right. Not funny. I'm sorry."

Lon'qu's face had flushed a deep crimson, and his eyes were shifty. "Then you didn't- Never mind. Forget it." He had stalked off without a word, though Chrom had tried to call him back. The lord did wonder about that. What was Lon'qu's issue with the butterflies, of all things?

Chrom watched, that night in the desert, as Lissa tried to slide closer to her bodyguard, only to have the swordsman get up and move to the other side of the fire.

"Hey!" the little princess called, pouting. Lon'qu sat down in his new spot and continued eating. Llissa made a face, then tried to sneak around the fire to join him. Chrom had to smile: it was a routine that happened nearly every night now. The only one who didn't seem even a little amused by it (other than Lon'qu, of course) was Frederick.

Frederick. Chrom looked into the fire. Though he was ashamed of the logic he'd gone through to pick someone to defend Lissa, Chrom had to admit, he was happy with the results. Enemies couldn't even get close to Lissa: Lon'qu was quick and seemed to be ever-present when it came to the petite cleric. Lissa had yet to come back from battle with so much as a scratch that didn't come from her own clumsiness. Even those kinds of accidents had become rarer, though, and Chrom suspected Lon'qu's involvement.

The only kink was Frederick. Though Chrom had no proof, he suspected that the observant knight had figured out what had happened. Chrom wanted to talk to him, but he had no idea how to approach the man without upsetting him further. He knew for a fact that Frederick was upset, too: the knight had been acting erratically, working even harder than usual but speaking to nearly no one. Even Sully, who usually didn't notice those kinds of things, made a remark in passing that Frederick didn't train with the rest of the Shepherds anymore.

"It's like," she said, breathing deeply as she hoisted supplies back on her horse one morning, "he's almost not a Shepherd, you know? I never seem him. It's a damn nuisance; I want to train, and he's not there! How the hell am I supposed to get stronger if one of the strongest people on this team won't train?!"

Chrom had to agree. Something was up, and he wanted to figure it out before they reached the capital. It wouldn't do any good to have his second in command at a distance from the rest of the group at the critical moment. As the flames danced before his eyes - Frederick's fire was a true roarer that night, putting off so much heat that Chrom's neck was as sweaty as during daylight - he decided that the knight needed to be spoken to. He'd ask Robin how exactly to approach the situation. Diplomacy - using the word with regards to Frederick put a bad taste in Chrom's mouth, but he could find no better expression for what he had to use - had never been his strong suit.

* * *

"You haven't thought about it _at all_?!"

"Of course not! Why would I?"

"Because, you're a lady of high standing! What if someone began forming suppositions? I only speak of this now because I worry about you, you know. Men can be such boors - it's really best to keep them at a distance."

"You worry too much! I'm fine!"

"Lissa!"

Chrom peeked out of his tent to see what the commotion was about. Maribelle stood in front of Lissa and was speaking emphatically, waving her arms wildly.

"Maribelle, please! I _like_ them!"

"Oh, you cannot meant that! For a lady to have feelings for more than one man-the impropriety-"

"No no NO! Not like that! They're my friends! Lon'qu and Frederick are-"

"Men, my dear, and men of a certain type cannot be trusted to be alone with a lady. Their ideas of 'friendship' with a woman are entirely unsavory."

Lissa folded her arms. "You can't be serious! You do realize that one of the guys we're talking about is _Frederick_, right? He has the most integrity of anyone I know!"

"You're a royal, and you're a beautiful girl. That's enough to break any man. I just want you to stay safe." Maribelle nodded to herself. Chrom had to smile. She was uptight, but she truly worried for Lissa. Often, it seemed as if there was nothing more important in Maribelle's world than his little sister.

"And what's the issue with Lon'qu, huh? He's my bodyguard - if Chrom says he's safe, it's fine!"

"He's a foreigner!" Maribelle retorted. "And he's young. His, what is it again?_, gynophobia_, it's all a trap! Please, darling, you must stay away. You're better than him."

Lissa sighed. "There's no winning with you, is there, Maribelle? Look, I know you're just looking out for me, but… Really, it's going to be all right. I promise."

"But-!"

"Maribelle, please!" Lissa held both of Maribelle's hands in hers. "Maribelle…"

Maribelle hugged Lissa. "Oh, my darling, I'm so sorry. I just worry for you so much… If anything were to happen to you, I, I…"

Lissa pulled away from the hug and smiled. Even in the dark, anyone could tell that she was beaming. "Nothing's going to happen. Not to either of us."

"You're right, of course," Maribelle said, pulling away as well. "It's this journey that has me in such a tizzy. Not enough water for a bath, or even for a civilized cup of tea-! But oh, Lissa, darling, it's going to be fine. We're going to bring the Exalt back, and we'll all have a cup of tea together. Doesn't that sound lovely?"

Lissa nodded a little too energetically. Maribelle could tell that she'd struck a nerve, and she snagged one of her friend's hands. "I know; we might not be able to get as clean as one would like, but that doesn't mean we can't be comfortable. Come on: I've been practicing some muscle relaxation techniques." Maribelle began pulling Lissa along, and the good-natured cleric followed without complaint as Maribelle continued, "Have you ever had a massage?"

Chrom's eye was pulled away from the pair as they headed toward Maribelle's tent: there was movement elsewhere. The lord squinted against the darkness, but he could make out nothing in particular until the source of the movement came into the light. Lon'qu spared him only a single glance before moving from the shadow of a tent to follow the pair of women. He soon melted seamlessly back into the darkness.

Before Chrom could shut his tent flaps for the evening, something else caught his eye. It wasn't so much the movement as the glint of light. Because of the reflection, Chrom could clearly make out the form of Frederick approaching. He, too, Chrom thought, must have been hiding in the shadows. Apparently, it was a busy night for eavesdropping on young ladies.

"My lord." Frederick's bow was stiff and formal. Chrom was instantly alert. Frederick's body was rigid, his muscles visibly taught under his armor. Even his voice sounded strained. "May I have a word?"

"Of course. Come on in," Chrom said, lifting the flaps to the tent and stepping back a pace. Frederick shut his eyes, took a breath, and stepped inside. Chrom drew the flaps behind him. All at once, he had the feeling that it was going to be a long night.


	6. Divulgence

Something a little longer than the past few chapters. If I had to sum up, I would say that this was the chapter in which both Frederick and Chrom are terribly uncomfortable but manage to get pretty much everything out on the table. I've checked this over again for rogue grammatical errors, but I wanted to get it out here so that we can move on from the sad stuff, so there might (still) be things I haven't caught. As usual, review and feedback are requested - for those of you who have reviewed, I'm doing my best to get back to everybody! Usual disclaimers apply; enjoy!

* * *

It was, Frederick thought, the best time to have this conversation. Chrom had been in a good mood for days now. Robin had told him that it was because Chrom was so focused on a single goal, and that he had plans to achieve that goal, that it was as if the hardships bedeviling the army were nonexistent.

To be honest, Frederick wasn't entirely comfortable with the thought. Chrom's father had once had the same mentality. His single-minded determination to wipe out the Grimleal had led to a war that nearly destroyed both Plegia and Ylisse.

But now was not the time for such thoughts. Frederick worked to lengthen his spine; standing tall and upright was proving difficult. His shoulders wanted to slump forward, and he had the undeniable urge to hand his head, to run a hand through his hair, or to cradle his elbows in front of him. His knees wanted to bend and cross, and his eyes wanted to rest anywhere but on Chrom.

He could not do any of those things, though. He was above this, or so he told himself again and again as he forced his head to remain level. He would not allow Chrom to see his hands behind his back, the one gripping the other so hard that he was beginning to lose sensation in his fingertips. He would demonstrate through body language alone that the matter about which he was about to speak, though important, was not so troubling as to deeply effect the knight.

Frederick was reasonable, though: Chrom's startled expression alone told him that he wasn't doing nearly as good of a job of coming off as cool and collected as he had hoped.

"My lord," Frederick began, clearing his voice, "there is something I wish to speak with you about."

Chrom nodded. "I gathered so much. What has been bothering you? You've been acting strange as of late. Are you feeling well?"

Frederick's eyes lowered automatically, though he soon corrected his gaze, damning himself several times over. "I admit, I do feel uneasy, though I was unaware that I had been acting strangely."

Chrom's shoulders relaxed, and the young lord breathed audibly. "Frederick, you've been at a distance for several days now. Sully has been trying to get you to train with her, but she can't seem to get through to you. No one really can. What's been going on?"

The knight kept himself firmly in check, standing stock-still as he spoke. "'Tis true that I have, as you say, distanced myself from my fellow Shepherds. I have had…much thinking to do." A sigh escaped his lips that he could not retract. "Milord, might I pose a personal question?"

"Of course, Frederick."

"Do you distrust me?"

"What?!"

Frederick found himself gnawing on his bottom lip. "If my lord will pardon me for mentioning something about which he has avoided speaking, you assigned Lady Lissa a personal guard and asked nothing of me. I must ask: do you not trust me to do my duty?"

"Frederick, of course I trust you! You're the most dependable Shepherd we have!"

"Then why, sire," Frederick said, his voice shaking, "why did you not ask if I would defend milady? Why did you ask him?"

Chrom's eyes were apologetic yet shifty. Frederick felt that he already knew the answer to his question, and his heart was the heavier for it. "Frederick, I didn't ask you because you already have too many responsibilities. Burdening you with more seemed unreasonable."

"Does milord think me incapable of the jobs I have taken on?"

"No, not at all! It's just that I wanted you to have at least a little time for yourself. You know, to relax."

"Milord, if I may recall, I was asked to join the Shepherds that I might look after milord and milady. That, above all, is my charge."

"Frederick, I…"

The knight couldn't stop himself. "If I am unable to serve those to whom I am dedicated, I have no purpose. If I am unfit to serve Lady Lissa as a human shield, then I have no reason. Milord, I beg of you, tell me the truth: do you truly find me unfit for this duty? Are my services no longer desired?"

"No, Frederick. It's not that at all."

Frederick was quiet for a long time. "I have no desire to question your judgment, sire."

Chrom sat down on his makeshift cot. He fidgeted, his muscles twitching under the strain of deep thought. Frederick wondered what all was going through his mind. He would have given anything to know.

"Frederick, before I say anything else," Chrom said slowly, "I have a question to ask."

"Of course, sire."

"If, in the course of a battle, I were to be disarmed and badly injured, and Lissa was to become separated from the group, both of us would likely be killed, correct?"

The knight didn't like where this was going. "That is correct."

"Let's say that you're there when this happens. Our enemies are closing in. Answer me honestly: who do you save?"

Frederick opened his mouth to answer, then immediately snapped his jaws together, his teeth clicking. For the first time in the course of the conversation, he didn't have to fight to keep his body still: it remained frozen in place of its own accord as his mind processed the scenario with which he had been presented.

"I would," the knight said, dragging out the words, "as a knight of the realm, save the heir to the halidom."

"That's exactly the-"

"But," Frederick continued, speaking softer than before, "I would like to think that, for a moment, I would act selfishly."

"Frederick?"

The knight shook his head. His hands were shaking again. "Forgive me, sire. I have said too much. I understand the purpose of your scenario, but I find it ill crafted. In no event would such an event transpire."

"Don't be ridiculous, Frederick. On the battlefield, anything can happen. We've seen it many times over."

"The unpredictability of the battlefield is indeed one thing. However, you must understand, and I will repeat: my charge is to protect milord and milady. If you were separated from Lady Lissa and injured, as you say, I would be unable to save either of you. I would have fallen long before such a thing could happen, and I would have done so knowing that I would be preventing such a scenario, buying you time such that you might regroup with the rest of the Shepherds. Neither you nor Lady Lissa shall fall on the battlefield while I draw breath."

"Frederick…"

Chrom grasped for words he could not appear to find. Frederick's body continued to stay still by itself. He sensed that now was the time to leave, but he found that he couldn't. His armor weighed his shoulders down and kept his feet from moving. His hands unclasped, too, allowing the blood to flow freely again. He breathed out through his mouth, the exhale loud in the silent tent.

"You're right, Frederick."

The knight blinked once, then again, and again. Those had been the words that, deep down, he had wanted to hear, but to hear them spoken in such a tone left him feeling hollow. It wasn't just a sad sound: Chrom sounded dejected. The words slapped Frederick across the face. He thought of the past few days, how Chrom's mind had been so clear and sharp that he had been nearly ethereal in his bearing. Frederick saw him now, slumped over on his cot, his head held in the tight vice of his own hands. He, Frederick, had done this. With his impertinence, he had crafted this scene. Putting the late king's behavior aside, Frederick's mind told him: he had hurt his lord. This was his fault.

"You're right."

Chrom's words slapped Frederick across the other cheek. Frederick unthinkingly reached up to touch his face to check that he wasn't bleeding.

"I'm sorry, Frederick." Chrom was looking up at him now. "I just… I suppose there's no shame in admitting it. I was afraid. I was afraid for Lissa. When she began traveling with us as a Shepherd, I was terrified. She was so proud to come out with us that I couldn't say no, but, to see her on the battlefield alongside you and I… That's when I began to think about it."

"Assigning a guard to just milady?"

"Correct. When the Plegian bandits attacked Southtown and we fought them off, of the four of us, Lissa was their primary target. Though you and I, and Robin, too, managed to keep them off of her, it wasn't easygoing. They saw her as the weak link. Then, there were the Risen, and Regna Ferox…"

"Ferox?" Frederick questioned. If the Feroxi warriors had done _anything_ to harm Lissa, he thought, they had better start praying.

"Do you remember what Raimi said?" Chrom said, oblivious to Frederick's sudden fury. "There had been many Plegians masquerading as Ylisseans trying to cross the border and cause trouble. I asked Flavia while we were there, and she said that there were many Plegians on the Northroad who occasionally attacked the wall. In fact, she was surprised that none of them had ambushed us on the way up. Had it not been for the upcoming tournament, she would have crossed the border and dealt with them 'the Feroxi way', as she put it, but as it was, her hands were tied."

"So you knew about the assassins ahead of time."

Chrom shook his head. "No. According to Lon'qu, those weren't assassins. He said that they were probably just brigands who were looking to raid. They likely didn't know who they were attacking."

"I find that difficult to believe."

The lord shrugged. "That's just what Lon'qu said. At any rate, that was our first night back on the road. I had decided before we set up camp that I wanted to give Lissa a bodyguard, and I wanted to deal with it that night. I spent a long time thinking about what I was going to do."

"You waited until most of the Shepherds had gone to rest," Frederick recalled. "That's when you came out and asked if I knew where Lon'qu had gone."

"That's right. You looked so happy with your fire, and then when I approached… Your demeanor changed." Chrom's own face contorted. "I'm sorry. That's not important. I apologize."

"There is no need. It is I who should apologize. I in no way wished to convey anything but gladness upon seeing you safe and well."

"No, I do need to apologize. I had just thought that your response to the scenario I put forth a few minutes ago would be different. I hadn't thought it through well enough. If I had, I would have seen that you were the obvious choice. After all, it is your job already, and you perform it superbly."

Frederick had to ask, though he didn't want to. "Milord, what answer had you been expecting?"

Chrom took in a breath. "I had thought that you would have stopped after your first response. That you would have saved me and let Lissa," he said, pausing, "go."

The knight shook his head. "I couldn't do that."

"Frederick, what you said earlier, about acting selfishly-"

Frederick knew that it was against decorum, but he cut his lord off. "Why keep it a secret?"

"Huh?"

"Lon'qu's assignment. Knowledge of it would hurt," Frederick said, "no one."

"Can you really say that it was a harmless decision?" Chrom asked softly. Frederick gave no response. "My primary reason for saying nothing was simple: I didn't want Lissa to worry, or to think that she was causing any kind of problem. I wanted to protect her.

"Still, I should have said something to you. I see that I've hurt you."

"Milord, I can assure you-"

"Frederick." The knight fell silent. "You don't have to lie to me. I can tell. And I apologize from the bottom of my heart. I was so afraid for my sister that I acted rashly on her behalf. I had thought that I'd gone through all of the possibilities, but in reality, I'd only blinded myself. Can you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive, milord," Frederick said, his mouth dry. "You acted for the benefit of Lady Lissa. For that, I should be eternally grateful." He looked off to the side. "I apologize once again, for taking up what might have otherwise been a pleasurable evening for milord. I'll see that it doesn't happen again."

The knight turned to make a speedy retreat.

"Wait!"

Frederick stopped. He felt sick, and he was dreading what else might be coming.

"About what you said earlier, about acting selfishly. You never let me finish asking just what you meant."

"Forgive me, milord," Frederick spoke without turning around. "I ask in all earnestness that you don't."

"Frederick?"

"Please." Frederick received no response. He turned his head enough to see Chrom out of the corner of one eye. "Good evening, my lord. Pray, sleep well."

"Good night, Frederick."

Chrom seemed to want to say something other than that, but Frederick walked outside. Movement made him feel dizzy; he retreated to his own tent and cot and lay down, still fully armed.

What had he done? What had he _done_? He put his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes with sand-encrusted gloves. He just had to open his mouth and come out with all of that.

At least, he thought bitterly, he had his answers. Chrom had only wanted to protect Lady Lissa. It was nothing personal. That, at least, was a relief. If he had to say how he felt about the conversation on the whole, though, he would have been at a loss as to how to answer. He felt happy that he was still trusted. He was sad that his lord had been in such a predicament as he had been in and hadn't thought to turn to an outside opinion. Frederick was conflicted, upset, nauseous, relieved, and much, much more. He realized, as he tried to sum it all up, that it only amounted to one thing.

Frederick felt vulnerable.

He let his arms drop to rest by his side and blinked at the canvas of the tent. Vulnerable. It was hilarious. Absolutely, sidesplittingly hilarious. The knight rolled onto his side and sat up, running a hand through hair. In the middle of doing so, he registered that he was making a mess of his hair. He was going to look ridiculous until they found some more fresh water.

He gripped his face in frustration. He thought of maybe doing another rounds on the camp - there was no way he was going to be able to sleep now - but sound outside stopped him.

"Yes, my arms feel a million times better! Thanks so much, Maribelle!"

Frederick's stomach dropped. It was Lady Lissa, and she sounded delighted.

"Not a problem, dear. I'll be sure to improve my technique for next time." Maribelle sounded quite happy herself. "For now, Lissa, my treasure, you should sleep. You of all people need your rest. I won't have you getting hurt because you haven't slept properly!"

"Oh, Maribelle. You worry too much. Say, you never gave me a chance to give you a massage!"

"Don't worry, my darling, my shoulders are as light as a feather."

"But Maribelle-"

"Don't 'but' me, my darling; I only wish to take care of you. Be a dear and get some sleep; I'll feel horrible if you stay up on my account."

"All right, but you have to promise me that you'll let me help you to relax, too!"

"Good night, my dear!" Maribelle's tone was firm but was masked by enough jubilance to pass.

"Good night, then," Lissa said. "See you in the morning."

The pair of noblewomen walked their separate ways. Frederick could see Lady Lissa's cheery smile in his head. She was so sunny and radiant; it was no wonder that everyone, even Maribelle, couldn't help but want to keep her safe.

Frederick adjusted his armor and checked the edge of his sword. Lon'qu would be doing rounds that night, no doubt. Frederick resolved that he might as well do the same.

* * *

Frederick paced the perimeter of the camp with such single-minded determination that he was genuinely surprised when the sun rose.

"Oh, good morning, Frederick." Robin said. The strategist stretched in the light of the dawn. "I haven't seen you out this early for a while. Feeling better?"

"Beg pardon?" Frederick asked.

"Oh! I just assumed that you hadn't been feeling well. You've been a little distant, so I wondered if the heat hadn't gotten to you. I talked to Lissa and she said that she was going to come take a look at you. She's been worried sick."

Frederick pursed his lips. "Then I owe both you and milady a thousand apologies. I never meant to worry anyone." The thought of Lissa concerned for his well-being possessed his thoughts.

"Well, you'll know why she's there if she drops by to see you today." The strategist leaned down, stretching calf muscles. "Oof. All this riding really takes a toll, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Frederick responded, though he was hardly paying attention. "It does."

* * *

Frederick was fixing his horse. That was all he was doing. Saddle pad, saddle, bridle - all went on one by one, the buckles assembling themselves under his hands. He was most certainly _not_ waiting for a bouncy cleric to run up, demanding why he had been acting oddly.

The sound of footsteps behind him made him spin around, eager to see who it was. He had to admit, he was mildly disappointed to see that it was Chrom.

The look on the young lord's face changed immediately upon seeing his knight. "Good Gods, Frederick! What did you do?"

"Milord?"

"Your face! Your…entirety! I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you're a mess."

Frederick ran a hand through his hair to find that it was sticking up in odd places. He supposed he did look a bit rough. "My apologies, sire. I shall repair my appearances on the double."

Chrom shook his head with disapproval. "Appearances aren't exactly the problem here; you look exhausted. Answer me honestly: did you sleep last night?"

The lord's attention to such personal details rather embarrassed the knight. "No, sire," he said, shifting his weight. "I did rounds on the camp."

"Until all hours?" Chrom swore. "Frederick, while I appreciate all that you do, you _need_ to back off on a few things. You'll do neither my sister nor I any good if you walk around half dead from sleep deprivation." Frederick tilted his head. He _was_ tired, and he didn't understand exactly what Chrom was saying. The lord rubbed his head.

"I meant to tell you," Chrom continued, "that I intend to absolve Lon'qu of his responsibilities pertaining to Lissa. You'll be acting as Lissa's sole personal guardian." Frederick opened his mouth to speak, but Chrom wasn't done. "I told Lon'qu that he was on duty until someone else strikes, or until we return to Ylisstol with Emmeryn, as he'll be returning to Ferox in the latter event."

"Milord, I," Frederick tried, his brain muddling through appropriate word choices, "thank you. This is a great honor. I shall defend her with pride!"

Chrom smiled. "You'll defend her with a well-rested body is what you'll do. Pull yourself together, friend; it's time to march."


	7. Antilogy

Another somewhat short chapter; my apologies. I needed to get to certain events, and my muses have been dragging their feet on getting there. This story is turning out to be a bit longer than I expected, though I do think that we'll be wrapped up fairly soon. As per usual, disclaimers apply. R&R with the knowledge that I do read and enjoy and take heed of what is recommended / pointed out in the reviews and when I get a moment's spare time I will make an attempt to respond intelligently. For now, please enjoy!

* * *

The subsequent day's march through Plegia was just as painful as any other that Chrom's army had experienced while on the long trek south. Just as any other day, too, Lon'qu was miserable. Absolutely, undeniably, miserable.

There were many reasons for which the swordsman was irritable. First, of course, there was the heat. The temperature was a problem that the Feroxi warriors faced with equal disdain. They were northern fighters, one and all: they battled in the frigid cold and in the snow. They faced hypothermia and frostbite without fear. They could go for months at a time without so much as a steaming cup of tea, to say nothing of hot food. After adjusting to such a harsh climate, there was no going back. Even Ylisse felt warm to Lon'qu; the Plegian sands felt like hellfire.

Then, there was his charge. Lissa had made it her mission to "cure" him of his "fear" of women by trying to get as close to him as possible. He scoffed at her and kept her at arm's length; he'd be rid of her as soon as Frederick took his place. Lon'qu didn't think that moment could come soon enough.

Last, there was the reason for the march. Lon'qu had never seen the Exalt before, much to the chagrin and disbelief of Chrom's little sister. She found it believable enough that he had missed the Exalt while defending against assassins in Ylisstol, but she couldn't fathom that he hadn't seen her while escorting her to the East Palace. To make up for what Lissa considered to be a gaping hole in his life, she talked about her sister the Exalt incessantly. For all that Lon'qu claimed that he hadn't been listening, he thought that the Exalt sounded like a kind woman, someone worthy of being saved.

Lon'qu scanned the flat desert landscape while the army slogged through the sands. There were no bugs or trees or even any signs of life to distract him from his own thoughts. He shut his eyes against the bright sun and the world around him. He needed a distraction; it didn't matter if it came in the form of a grassy plain or a battle against a Plegian contingent. He needed to escape from his head, and at that point, he'd be willing to accept nearly anything.

In his mind, the Exalt was an older version of Ke'ri.

* * *

"Can you believe it? He's been acting like such a jerk, and he can't even offer an explanation when I ask him how he is! Seriously, he's such a thickhead sometimes!" There was a pause in the tirade. "Hey, are you even listening?"

Lon'qu grunted in response. He'd conditioned Lissa to learn that meant yes.

"Good, because if you weren't, I was going to have to start all over again. Yeesh, but honestly! I wonder what's got _his_ britches in a bind." Lissa let out a long, heavy sigh. "Now that I think about it, though, Frederick's not the only one. You've been acting weird lately, too."

Lon'qu couldn't stop a grimace from forming on his face. "I have done no such thing."

"Yes, you have!" Lissa declared. She looked, Lon'qu thought, awfully proud of herself. "You know, since you've been guarding me and all that, I've been watching you. Robin told me that the best way to help a person is to get to know them really well so that you can see where the problem comes from!" Lissa was beaming from ear to ear. Lon'qu, assured that there was no way she could effectively delve into his past, regarded her evenly.

"You've been stalking me?"

Lissa's eyes went wide. "No! No no no no _no_! Not stalking! Uh, what does Miriel usually say? I've been, um, observing you. Right."

Lon'qu gave no response. She was goading him, and he had no intention of biting.

"Aww, you're not even going to ask what I came up with?" Lissa whined. She pursed her lips in a pout. "Fine, then I won't tell you all the good stuff I've dished up on you. I'll just have to tell Chrom and Robin and the entirety of camp and you'll find out what I know through them!"

Lon'qu's right eye was twitching, through from exasperation or exhaustion, he wasn't quite sure. "Fine."

Lissa slouched in her saddle. "Fine? _Fine_?! I'm going to tell your, um, darkest secrets, and all you can say is _fine_?"

"You don't know a thing about me."

"Oh yeah? I know loads about you!"

There was only one way to get her to shut up. "Try me."

"Fine, I will! We'll start with the basics." Lissa nodded to herself. Her smile was demoniac. "Your name is Lon'qu. You're a swordsman from Regna Ferox. See, everyone knows at least a _little bit_ about you."

"Wrong."

See, even you- WHAT?!" Lissa's jaw was hanging wide open, and her vocalization of disbelief had drawn the attention of some nearby riders. Lon'qu looked on with a tight jaw; he could hear someone stifling laughter, likely at his expense. "Wait, you've got to explain that one. Are you saying that you lied?"

"No."

"Then what? I mean, your name _is_ Lon'qu. That wasn't, like, a joke or anything, right?"

"Why would my name be a joke?" Lon'qu's words came out harsher than he'd intended.

"Er, right, sorry. I didn't mean it." Lissa sagged in her saddle, her spine bending until she was very nearly laying down. She looked everywhere except at him.

Lon'qu shook his head. _Women_. "It was the place."

"What?" Lissa twisted her head so that she could see him out of one eye. Her visible eyebrow was raised; she hadn't been expecting him to speak.

"The place."

Lissa bit her lip in concentration and sat back up. "Oh! You mean, you're not from Regna Ferox?" Her brows lowered and knitted together, meeting in the middle. "Then, wait a minute. Are you from Plegia?"

"No."

"Oh. Then you're from Ylisse. What region does that accent come from, anyway?"

Lon'qu's shoulders sagged. He'd intended for her to stop moping, but now he rather wished that he hadn't given her anything to go on. "Not Ylisse."

Lissa thought about that long and hard for a while, so long that Lon'qu actually believed that she had taken the hint and dropped the conversation before he hurt her feelings again. He had, however, underestimated her: the princess was not one to be dissuaded.

"So, you're from the other continent." Her words were crisp and clear and spoken in a strange tone that drew Lon'qu's attention. She almost sounded royal. He regarded her out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't sad, but she wasn't overjoyed by the news, either. In fact, she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. She was staring off into the distance without seeing anything.

"You're a long way from home," she said softly. "I don't think I could ever go so far by myself."

Lon'qu felt heat in his face that had nothing to do with the sun. He wanted to retreat from the conversation by riding ahead, but the formation had moved around them in the time that Lissa had conjured her response, and all of his openings were closed. He didn't want to stop talking altogether, either. He ran a hand through his hair. Life was vexing.

"Ferox is my home now," he said finally.

When Lissa spoke again, all of the regality had drained from her lips, replaced by an equally unusual timidity. "Do you think you'll ever go back?"

"Khan Basilio lent me to Chrom because Plegia attacked. When it's over, I'm leaving."

"That's not what I meant," Lissa corrected quickly. "Unless- Wait a minute. I meant the place you were born. On the other continent. I meant to ask if you thought you'd ever go back there."

Lon'qu's lips were a firm line, and he spoke through his teeth. "There is nothing left there."

He didn't have to look at Lissa to know that she was looking down again. "I'm sorry," she said finally. Lon'qu didn't reply. It wasn't her fault. She repeated, "I'm sorry."

The swordsman gave the Plegian sands a cursory glance. Still no distraction.

* * *

Two days later, Lon'qu's fervent prayers to whatever god there was were finally answered. He was scouting at the front of the army when he noticed: there was the smell of fire on the wind, and there were figures on the horizon. He moved away from the others without giving a word of explanation to get a better view of the scene before him.

He squinted against the sun. An armed man and a child were running from a group of others. They didn't appear to be common thugs, nor were they coordinated enough to be the Plegian army. Lon'qu wasn't quite sure what the classify them as.

The swordsman returned to the main body of the army immediately and reported his findings to Frederick. The knight, who seemed rather poorly rested, took the information stoically and went to find Chrom, who promptly issued the order to attack if necessary.

At last. Lon'qu's hand fell to his blade. Cutting things was a wonderful distraction.

* * *

As it happened, engagement with the enemy was necessary and left Lon'qu feeling refreshed. The army, too, was in luck: the battle with the Plegian Grimleal had brought the army to a trio of small villages that pumped water up from beneath the sands. Grateful that Chrom's forces had cleared out the oppressive sect, they kindly offered their hospitality for the evening. Though Chrom had initially insisted on continuing the march, considering how close they were to the capital, Khans Basilio and Flavia, to say nothing of popular support, won out.

Lon'qu had been privately relieved. At least in villages, even ones as small as those that the army had stumbled upon, there was some distraction to be found.

Lissa didn't seem to agree. In fact, after dinner, she decided that what she most wanted to do was to plaster herself to Lon'qu's side, his preferences be damned. To say the least, Lon'qu was unhappy with the arrangement, but there was nothing he could do about it, so he said nothing.

She, on the other hand, chattered on and on, using her healing staff as a walking stick. She strolled beside Lon'qu - or as close to him as he would allow her to go - while he paced the village. The sun was going down, but each time he suggested that she go do something more productive or entertaining, she simply made a face at him and carried on. She wasn't fazed by his lack of response. In fact, it seemed as if she'd stopped expecting them altogether and was carrying on her own dialogue by filling in the blanks for him.

The village that Chrom's army had settled in had only a single watchtower, and a rickety, old one at that. Regardless, Lon'qu climbed to get a better look at the surroundings. Lissa, much to his chagrin, followed him up.

"She's been teaching me all of the different ways to massage the muscles," she was saying, carrying on about some noblewoman with whom she was friends. "I'd like to try them on her, but she says that she doesn't need them. I don't know if that means that I'm not learning them well enough and that she's scared I'll hurt her or whether it's just Maribelle being Maribelle and not letting me do anything for her."

As Lon'qu suspected, there wasn't much to see from up in the watchtower. The two other villages stood in the distance, forming a nearly perfect triangle. There were a few villagers coming back to the village rather late, Lon'qu supposed, looking at the dark forms huddling together against the sand and the wind, but nothing out of the ordinary. He climbed back down, and once again, Lissa followed.

"But, the thing is, Miriel found out what we were doing, and now _she_ wants to know how to do all of it. She was saying something about physical contact as a means of reducing stress, or something like that. Honestly, though, I don't really care if she learns how to give massages; I just don't want her giving _me_ one. Don't get me wrong, I like Miriel! She's just a little…thorough, if you know what I mean. I'd be worried that I'd never be able to feel my back again, you know? At any rate, she's been after Maribelle for hours trying to get her to talk about the book that she's been using."

As they walked the streets, Lon'qu kept an eye on the buildings on either side. Any building, whether it be a shop or a home, could house any number of unsavory sorts. Hospitable villagers or no, they were still in Plegian territory. The little noble bouncing along at his side was still a moving target.

A few times, Lon'qu thought he saw movement, or a glint of light on metal, in the upper windows or near the rooftops, but after a moment of observation, it turned out to be nothing. They had been in the desert for too long; Lon'qu felt that he was seeing things. Even so, he steered himself and Lissa in a different direction every time he thought he saw something. Lissa was proving marginally more observant than he'd given her credit for, and he didn't want her spooked over nothing.

Lissa tripped over a little rock in the road, and her endless jabbering stopped for a moment while she regained her balance. Lon'qu eyed the small street on which they'd found themselves up and down. They were close to the outskirts of the village, from the looks of it. Most people had turned in for the night.

"The path's kinda bumpy here, Lon'qu. Should we hold hands?" The princess giggled.

"No."

Lon'qu had been finding it difficult to tune Lissa out, but now his brain did it of its own accord, silencing her retort. His eyes narrowed, flitting from rooftop to rooftop. The street had turned out into a tiny open courtyard. A window slammed and locked; Lon'qu noticed instantaneously that all of the other windows and doors had been similarly bolted from the inside. He cursed at himself, hoping that there was still time. There was movement on three sides, and a shifting sound from behind.

"Shhh!" he ordered, pressing Lissa to one side.

"That is SO rude! Gosh, I'm only trying to-"

"Get behind me! Quickly!" Lon'qu pulled the little princess back by the forearm, scraping her in the process. His ears were deaf to all but the bowstrings as they were pulled back and the daggers as they were drawn from their scabbards.


	8. Misericorde

I have to apologize for the untimely delay on getting this chapter out. I've had some personal problems that I swore up and down wouldn't interfere with my writing. Yesterday was a sort of rock bottom for me; hopefully, I'm on the upswing.

* * *

Assassins.

Lissa's mind raced and froze at the same time, stuck on that one curious word while analyzing its ramifications. Assassins. In the village. Lissa was nauseous before she could register the feeling. Had Chrom been betrayed?

Her eyes focused on the shape before her - when had her vision reduced to a tiny speck surrounded by darkness? - and all other thoughts stopped.

Lon'qu was injured. An arrow had pierced his right shoulder. It had lodged right next to the joint, sticking out halfway in either direction, the tip obscured by a clump of flesh. It was almost like one of those headbands that tricked people into thinking that one had an arrow through one's head. Except, this wasn't a trick. Blood dripped from the length of the shaft. This was real. Lissa felt the bile rising at the back of her throat.

The swordsman felt the area and dropped the injured arm, tucking it by his side. He was collected. Lissa's legs didn't feel steady.

"Stay close," he said. Lissa's pulse was in her ears. Lon'qu drew his sword with his left hand, fumbling with the grip. She was so focused on her bodyguard, on how it seemed to take him forever to pull the blade from the scabbard using the wrong hand, that she couldn't see the movement around them. When an assassin materialized, short-sword raised high, she didn't notice until the stroke had almost fallen.

Lon'qu, however, had eyes for both of them. He blocked the knife attack by hitting the assassin's arm with his own, changing the sword's trajectory. Then, with a twisting motion and an outward spin, he had the assailant on the ground and disarmed.

Lissa watched as Lon'qu stabbed him through the back several times. In, out. In, out. The Plegian attacker shrieked and then fell silent. Lon'qu gave the corpse a few extra blows for good measure.

"Hold this."

Lissa looked down at Lon'qu's bloody sword as her protector took up the assassin's weapon. It was a substantially shorter blade, cruder in cut and easier to handle than his own.

From start to finish, it all took mere moments to occur. To Lissa, it felt like an eternity.

"Stay close," Lon'qu repeated. Lissa nodded, numb. There was nothing else to do but follow.

* * *

"Please, please, I can explain everything, just spare me-"

"_Be silent_."

Lon'qu struck the last assassin through the chest. He choked as the blade was removed. The hands, clasped in prayer, only loosened their hold on one another as the body fell to the side, blood spilling into the dust. Lon'qu dropped the short-sword that he'd used throughout the skirmish. It's blade was stained, its edge dull.

The swordsman turned to Lissa. She had moved mechanically across the courtyard, following Lon'qu, staying back when he told her to. He had kept her close all throughout. She wanted to rib him for it, to ask him if she'd cured his fear of women, but she couldn't. Dirt and sweat and fear sealed her lips. This man couldn't fear anything. He didn't seem human.

"That's the last of them," he said, approaching her. Lissa took a step back, and Lon'qu stopped. His face was unreadable. "I'll take that back." He pointed at her arms, and she looked down. Oh. She extended the bloody sword in his direction. Since she was holding the hilt, he grabbed it by the blade. Lissa watched as he wiped the blood away with his sash, then sheathed it.

"Here," Lissa said quickly, trying not to look down at her stained apron, "hold still. Let me tend to your wounds."

Lon'qu pulled away. "I'm fine." She grabbed his arm, her face flaming with embarrassment. She'd been so terrified, so unprepared for the attack, that she had completely forgotten that she was carrying her healing staff. When she finished several verses of the incantation, a healing blue light stitching together most of his injuries, Lon'qu stepped away from her, putting more than the usual distance between them. "Are you hurt?"

"No. Thanks to you."

"Good," Lon'qu said. The sun was nearly set. "That's good."

"Lon'qu, you just-" Lissa started, stopping when she saw that the swordsman was watching her. She gulped. "You saved my life."

"I followed orders."

"But-"

"You should be safe now. I'll escort you to your room, just to be sure."

Neither of them moved. Lissa's feet were as heavy as lead blocks. Lon'qu didn't show signs of moving without her, but she couldn't. She swallowed again. This hadn't been anything like before.

Lon'qu closed his eyes. "You fear me."

Her cheeks grew redder. "No, I-" She shut her mouth. There was no denying it. "It's just that, I wasn't… No. I don't…" Lissa let out a very long, loud breath. She was shaking all over. "I wasn't ready," she said. "I wasn't expecting anyone to come out. I just thought that Chrom was being his usual overprotective self. I thought that it was a game. I wasn't ready. It wasn't like before." Lon'qu opened his mouth to speak, but Lissa had been silent for the battle's duration, and now she found that she couldn't stop talking. "You know, when the Shepherds go out to fight, I have to steel myself because, you know, people I care about are going to get hurt. They might even die. I don't want to see them that way. I have to prepare myself. Even if it's only a few moments. I've never not taken that time, and seeing you hurt, I just couldn't-" There were tears prickling her eyes. She hiccupped. "I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry that I didn't heal you. I'm sorry that I'm scared of you. I'm sorry that you had to kill all of those people because they wanted to kill me because I'm Emm and Chrom's little sister. You know, I don't even have the brand, I'm probably not even legitimate, so it's all for nothing, and I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_-"

"Be silent."

Lissa froze in place. Somehow, Lon'qu had crossed the distance between them without her noticing. He had a hand on her shoulder. A bloodstained, heavy hand. She looked up at her bodyguard.

"This is not your fault."

Lissa bit her lip. His tone brooked no argument.

"Can you walk?"

She hiccupped again. Lon'qu scooped her up, healing staff and all, and began to carry her back to her room.

* * *

"How dare you!"

Lissa stretched and yawned. If only she could get back to sleep… Phila sure knew how to put the new recruits in place. She snuggled against her blanket and smiled. She'd have to tell Emmeryn to tell the lady to ease up.

"My only _son_!"

"Murderers!"

The little princess's eyes shot wide open. That wasn't Phila's voice, nor was it anything Phila would (probably) say. In fact, she didn't think she knew who was talking. Phila had been captured when Ylisstol had fallen. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up and looked all around. Lon'qu had brought her back to her room in the village, though he was nowhere to be seen. She remembered setting off, but she must have fallen asleep before arriving. Her room was dark, with a reddish light dancing on the walls. That must have been hours ago.

"Now, hold on just a moment!"

Chrom's voice rang through the wood of the door. Lissa bit her lip, then threw back the covers. She started going straight for the door, then thought better of it and grabbed her staff first. It sounded bad out there. She'd be ready this time. Just in case.

She screwed all of her courage to the sticking-place and threw open the door.

The door promptly tossed her backwards as someone else slammed it shut.

"Ow!" Lissa yelled, falling back on her bum. She scrambled up and beat on the door. "Hey, let me out!"

"No, milady, it is far too dangerous."

"Frederick! Keep her in there! These men are out for blood!" Chrom's voice again.

"Yes, sire."

"Chrom, wait! Frederick! You let me out of this room right this instant! What's going on out there? Why are people yelling at my brother?"

"Please stay inside, milady. My liege orders it."

"_Frederick!_" Lissa beat against the door a few more times, but to no avail.

There were yells from outside, and not a few screams. On the other side of the door, there was a howl, followed by a loud thump.

"Next?" Frederick asked. Lissa shivered and clutched at her staff, wringing the smooth metal in her palms. Frederick was guarding the door, which was reassuring, but what on earth was happening? Were there more assassins?

Her eyes went to the window by her bed. There was an easy way to find out. She threw open the glass panels and looked at the streets down below.

What she saw made mer mouth run dry. The Shepherds were armed and ready, executing one of the strategies that Robin had devised early on for battles in populated areas. She caught a glimpse of Maribelle on her horse carrying an injured Vaike to safety. Directly below her window, there was a scuffle. Kellam appeared, lanced someone, and promptly vanished from her sight. Khans Flavia and Basilio were holding off one flooded street with a handful of Feroxi warriors, cutting down all who stood in their path. Chrom was at the forefront of all of this, Falchion gleaming in the scant light, as he felled man after woman after man, raw anger and hurt written on his face.

The light, Lissa saw, came from torches. The torches, in turn, were carried by villagers.

There were village men with swords. Some had bows. Others only had pitchforks. Women had magic tomes, or staves, or nothing but their bare fists. Lissa looked, horrified, and found a few older children in the fray, fighting as ferociously as their parents.

"Killers!" One of the villagers lunged at Chrom. However, he was no match for Lissa's lord-brother.

"Monsters!"

"My son, my _son_!"

"How dare you!" Maribelle shrieked over the fray. "You tried to kill my beloved, my treasure! I will never forgive you! Troglodytes and barbarians, one and all!"

People were crying. Screaming. Dying.

Lissa took a breath. She couldn't just stand there. Her brother was out there, in the middle of the battle. A lance grazed his arm, and he slid backwards, deflecting the rest of the slice. The bodies were starting to pile up.

She crossed the room again. "Frederick! Open this door! I don't care what my brother said; you need me!"

"Milady," Frederick grunted, "please forgive me, but I have my orders. It is not safe for you out here." There was another thump. "Please remain inside."

"I won't stand by as the people I love die! Frederick, for the love of all that is good and holy, let me out!"

"For the Gods' sakes, let her _out_!" Sully cried. Lissa paused. Why wasn't she outside, too? "We'll be slaughtered! We need healers!"

"_Frederick!_"

Sully screeched in pain, then sputtered, "To hell with you!" There was another thump, and another, and another.

"Sully!" Frederick threw open the door. "Milady."

Lissa raced past him, stepping over the bodies of several villagers. One of the men had served soup to all the soldiers. He had smiled sweetly and talked about how he wanted to own a bakery some day when the wars were all over and everyone could be at peace. Another one of them had been on guard at the tower. He had helped her climb the ladder, advising her not to look down when it came time to descend.

She passed over them all. They were dead enemies, one and all.

Past the brunt of the carnage that she supposed had been wrought primarily by Frederick, Sully was doubled over. Her red armor was smeared with blood, much of it her own.

"Hold still," Lissa ordered. The incantation passed her lips faster than it ever had before. Sully's flesh knitted itself back together, though as always the tears in her clothing remained. Lissa ran over the spell once more, just to be safe.

"Thank you kindly," the lady knight spoke, standing upright. She nodded at Frederick.

"Where are your horses?" Lissa questioned.

"Outside. Chrom had Frederick on guard duty since these bastards decided that it was your time to go. I decided to lend a hand since he was gonna get his ass handed to him without me. But guess what, little lady, the tables have turned: you're staying out here with us now. We need staves, and your girlfriend can only do so much."

"Right. Let's go!"

Sully started a mad dash toward the door. Lissa went to start running after her, but there was a push behind her legs, and suddenly Frederick was running for the both of them, carrying her in both arms. The princess was grateful that she'd decided to leave her oversized hoop skirt in her room.

"This way!" Sully shouted. Lissa saw her spin her lance through both hands as they pulled up to the horses. Two village boys were doing their best to cut through the thick ropes that tied them to the makeshift stables.

"The hell you touch my horse, chump!" One of the boys ran, but the other wasn't so lucky. He ended up impaled on her lance, muttering something Lissa didn't catch.

"Up here, milady."

Frederick hoisted her to the top of his horse, then mounted behind her. Sully had already kicked the body off of her lance and popped into her own saddle.

"We'll drop her off in the middle," Sully said. "Ain't that where Robin's plan usually puts her? Then you can come with me and clean house."

"Aye," Frederick affirmed. To Lissa, he said, "Hold on."

They were off. The fighting had moved several houses down. Sully never stopped talking while they were moving; she explained everything that had happened while Lissa was out.

"We've got a hell of a lot of work cut out for us," she said. "Apparently this village was housing a group of assassins sent by the Mad King himself, just for you. Got here early and waited. They right flipped when they heard what Lon'qu did to 'em, the magnificent bastard, and turned on Captain Chrom. The lot's been a set-up right from the get-go."

Sully whipped out into the edges of the fray for a moment, pausing only when she put her lance through someone. She returned to Frederick's side moments after.

"Huh. They may be trained, but they're piss-poor compared to us!" Sully shot Lissa what the cleric thought was probably meant to be a reassuring smile. Instead, it looked like one of Sully's usual dangerous grins. Lissa laughed in spite of herself. Good old Sully. She knew more about cooking than comforting.

Frederick let Lissa down near the center of everything. "Milord is close by," he said, squinting in the distance. "Please watch out."

"Keep both eyes open!" Sully ordered.

"Alright!" Lissa said. With a nod, both Sully and Frederick rode off to join Stahl, who was urging his horse to dodge a multitude of fireballs thrown by a woman who was tossing them out blindly. Lissa gripped her staff tightly.

"Healer!"

"Healer!"

A grunt. "Lissa!"

She had taken the few moments she'd had on Frederick's horse to get ready. She was prepared. She ran toward the nearest calls for help, the spell already on her lips.


	9. Convergence

**Warning: this chapter contains major spoilers for Chapter Nine of Fire Emblem: Awakening. If you have not reached this point in the game, please do not read any further. **(I find it interesting that this chapter encompasses all of chapter nine, and lo and behold, it is the ninth chapter of this story. I did not plan this.) If this chapter was hard to write, it was certainly harder to name. I considered "Emmeryn", in addition to other things, but since that's the actual name of Chapter Nine in the game, I thought that the feeling of it was already there. In case anyone was unclear, this is the chapter where the proverbial fecal matter hits the fan. Things are about to get real (or, at any rate, more real), and fast. As usual, R&R are always welcome. Usual disclaimers also apply. Enjoy!

* * *

He was sorry. Truly, he was.

They hadn't all been assassins. Some of them hadn't even known why they were fighting: they'd only picked up weapons to stand by their friends and family. Chrom knew this. But the village had housed those who meant to harm Lissa. They had taken up arms against the Shepherds. They had refused to talk. They weren't amenable to reason. That, he could not forgive. One of his sisters had already been taken; he would not allow another to slip away.

The smoldering remains of the village could be seen as far as four miles away. Chrom checked over his shoulder until the last wisps of smoke were out of sight, obliterated by blue sky and bright sun. The army had taken enough provisions to get them to the capital and then some, just in case. For the first time since setting off, the soldiers felt just as jubilant as their leader.

That night, Chrom slept soundly.

* * *

Frederick cursed himself a thousand times over for allowing his lord and lady to walk into such an obvious trap. To him, the battle of the village should have been anticipated. He had not been wary enough. The Mad King had known that the joint Ylissean-Feroxi army marched. It was to be expected that he would engage them. When that failed to happen, Frederick should have guessed that the Plegian ruler intended to break the army's morale first. The devil was nothing if not devious.

All throughout the battle, Frederick looked out for Chrom and Lissa. The young lord had held his own well. He was growing as a fighter. Soon, Frederick thought, he would surpass him in terms of skill, if not strength. The knight would have to train even harder to match the heir of the halidom.

Lissa, though, had been his main focus. She hadn't noticed, he was sure. She had been so busy tending to the wounds of the Shepherds that she could not have noticed as he skirted the battle, seeking out all those who took notice of the tiny cleric and sought to end her ministrations.

The lady had been pale and sweaty from exertion, but in the light of the fire, Frederick could clearly see her joy. She was protecting those for whom she cared. He would never, he swore, never live to see that joy dimmed.

* * *

Lon'qu would have been lying if he'd claimed not to have taken pleasure in the battle. It had given him an outlet for every vexing emotion that had accumulated over the course of the day. It had been a distraction from thoughts of the past, from the endlessness of the desert, and from the frankly unexpected issue of Lissa.

He had passed her off to Chrom after explaining what had happened with the assassins. The lord took care of her from there. Chrom had wanted to talk, but Lon'qu's bodyguard duty was over. He had no further obligation to the child. Frankly, he wanted to have nothing more to do with her brother, either.

He had, however, carried her back to her lodgings. Considering the heavy hoop skirt she was taken to wearing, she was too light. It didn't help that she didn't move as she'd slept. It disturbed him.

Lon'qu avoided both Chrom and Lissa tactfully and tried not to think about women's dead bodies all throughout the ride to the capital. Thankfully, another distraction would soon be at hand.

* * *

Lissa kept mostly to herself over the next few brief days. Once, she sought out Lon'qu, just to talk, but the swordsman had been impossible to find, and she'd soon given up.

At her behest, Chrom explained what had happened when Lon'qu had returned with her. Between Chrom's interactions with the villagers before the conflict started and a few conversations that he had overheard between the few survivors of the night, he had learned that the village had agreed to take in the assassins because they were relatives or friends of several of the families living there. They had been offered the promise of a better life so long as they killed Lissa; peerage as Plegian royalty for themselves and their families if they managed to kill both Ylissean royals. There was everything to gain and nothing to lose, at least on the surface. After all, what could a little girl do against trained professionals?

The princess shivered. Lon'qu had killed each assassin without so much as blinking. She had seen him during the later fight with the villagers, too. He'd moved with a kind of feral grace, felling anyone who so much as approached. He hadn't been the only one to stick by her, either. She'd seen Frederick doing laps throughout the fight, picking off anyone who got too close.

So much death. All because there happened to be a second princess of Ylisse, and it happened to be her. It wasn't anything personal, she knew, but still, it was hard to see it any other way.

She had to wonder: did Emmeryn feel the same? People had died when she'd been taken after Ylisstol fell - Khan Basilio had said that the death toll was hard to ascertain because some of the city had been razed, the bodies left to burn amongst the wreckage. Had Maribelle felt this bad when she'd been dragged across the border? It wasn't an experience her friend was inclined to talk about.

Lissa slept poorly, her dreams full of fire and knives.

* * *

Everyone was in place.

The Plegian capital lay before the army. The fight to end all fights was here at last. Khan Basilio had taken the Feroxi contingent to lay siege to the dungeons. There, Robin had predicted, Phila and the others would still be imprisoned. As soon as they were freed and Chrom took out the ground forces, everything could come together.

Chrom's mind was as clear as the sky above. It didn't matter that the army had suffered grievously on the road to the capital. Because of what he'd done, he could see her now, Emmeryn, where she stood on high. He smiled. All of his thoughts, everything he'd planned over the long course of the march, had been in preparation for this moment.

He gave the signal to Flavia, who, with her impeccable aim, felled the executioner.

The Mad King would fall, too, Chrom was sure. Soon, he and Emm would be swapping stories on the road home.

* * *

Frederick urged his horse through the sands, trying to lead the beast to stabler ground. They were so close. He had begun to believe that in assigning him to the Shepherds, the Exalt had done him a kindness. She had forced him to open up, to befriend, to trust. Perhaps it wasn't a process that he'd wholly embraced, but with more time, he felt sure that he could become a true Shepherd.

He would return the favor forever more with his service to the realm. For now, though, it didn't matter if the Plegian dogs prayed to Grima or Naga or no god at all; it didn't matter if they were soldiers or common villagers; it didn't matter if they were men, women, or children. He would cut them all down in the name of the future of Ylisse.

* * *

At first, Lon'qu thought that it was a vulture, the way it circled endlessly above the Exalt's head. After Chrom's army had finished in town, several vultures had descended from on high to feast on the flesh of the dead, tracing the same figure while they waited for the coast to clear. Out of respect, he supposed, Chrom had set fire to the bodies. The carrion birds had been scared away.

After running through several Plegians on the way to the gate to the Plegian capital, though, Lon'qu realized that it was a hawk. Such birds were symbols of authority and fearlessness. He'd once been told that no injury inflicted by the talons of a hawk could be healed. Those were the old beliefs.

More Plegians approached. No time - nor desire - to think of the old ways.

Though, his traitorous mind had to ask: hadn't the little girl he used to know worn the same light green color as the Exalt?

* * *

So close, so close, _so close_!

Lissa could see Emmeryn. She thought that her big sister must be smiling at her because she could feel the warmth and the love and it had nothing to do with the sun and the fact that she hadn't slept more two hours the night before.

Well, maybe it had. Lissa was willing to admit that much. But she was sure that Emmeryn could see her. She was sure that she was proud. So high up, higher even than the sky. Lissa thought that she'd like to be up there, too - once all of the creepy Plegian executioners were dealt with, of course.

The hope that had taken hold of Chrom bubbled within her chest. Robin's plan was working. Frederick was mowing down everyone who came before him; Lon'qu and Chrom and everyone else were doing just as much damage to the enemy numbers. They were going to break through. They were going to win.

Lissa didn't want to jinx anything, but she thought that she'd be sleeping well again soon.

* * *

The general defending the gate fell under the weight of the Shepherd's assault. It was over. Emmeryn was safe.

"Robin! Their wyvern riders have fallen! The skies are clear! I'm giving the signal!"

He indicated to Sumia, who, along with Cordelia, promptly lit colored flares. Moments later, a legion of pegasus knights descended from their hiding places. At the head of their platoon, Phila tugged at the reigns of her mount, a bit unsteady in the saddle after her imprisonment. Her relief, however, was apparent.

"Your Grace!"

* * *

"Milady!"

Frederick rode to where Lissa was gesturing at him.

"Frederick, we've done it! Phila's here!" She was beaming from ear to ear, bouncing up and down while pointing at the sky. Even with the Mad King only several yards away, even though Frederick supposed there would be many more battles to follow once they returned to Ylisstol with the Exalt, they had done it. They deserved this happiness - Lissa most of all.

He gave a rare smile. "Yes, milady, we have."

* * *

Lon'qu felt his shoulders droping. The battle was over. Something told him that this was the end. It was finished.

He kept the Mad King in sight nonetheless. The man - if he could truly be called that - appeared truly anguished. On the other hand, his aide, that fiendish woman who more resembled a bird than a human, did not appear fazed in the slightest.

The lightness left the swordsman. Perhaps they were not quite free and clear.

* * *

Lissa couldn't contain herself. It was over, they were going _home_! All of them. Emmeryn. Chrom. Phila. Frederick. Lon'qu. Well, maybe not Lon'qu. His case was pretty complicated. She waved at him emphatically, though he seemed preoccupied. Even so, everyone could be accounted for. They were all safe and sound. Phila was rising through the air with a flawless grace that Lissa envied. She was so close, she had her arms out, and Emmeryn reached out, and-

* * *

_No._

Chrom panicked. Where had they even come from? "Damn! Not now!"

* * *

Frederick's ears refused to register sound.

Risen. Risen with bows.

* * *

The world slowed to a halt. Bowstrings were pulled back. Fast as he was, Lon'qu could not bridge the distance between himself and the undead archers in time. He knew better than to try.

* * *

Lissa stopped. Phila's hand was still extended, but the shot had been clean. Blood splattered her sister's robes. Emmeryn wasn't smiling anymore.

* * *

Gangrel was laughing. _Laughing_. Chrom wanted to run him through, but he was too far away, too heavily guarded. The man could pull corpses out of thin air to fight for him.

_We've lost…_

The Plegian king wanted the Fire Emblem. He said that no one else needed to die so long as Chrom handed it over. But the Mad King was a liar. Robin was talking a mile a minute into Chrom's ear, telling him the reasonable thing: no one person was worth the lives of so many others, but this was his _sister_, and he couldn't…could he?

His voice faltered, and Gangrel picked up on the weakness.

"What's this? You'll let your sister and ruler die, all to save some old family trinket?" There was that laughter again, pure and unrestrained and utterly heartless. "Oh, so delicious! I can't _wait_ to hear what your people have to say about it. 'THE EXALT IS DEAD! LONG LIVE HER MURDERER!'_"_

* * *

Frederick's eyes were on Phila's dead body. Others had joined hers, but she alone held his full attention. She had been one of Ylisse's finest for years. Her reputation as a famed flier had grown to mythological proportions long before Frederick enlisted in the knights. She had earned her place as the Exalt's personal guard through years of dedication and hard work.

Phila's pegasus, ever loyal, had descended from the skies. It nuzzled its dead master.

One of the Risen approached. Frederick could not look away, not even when Risen archer pulled back the bowstring and released, the arrow lodging itself in the animal's skull. The pegasus fell beside its rider.

His eyes lifted to the Exalt. Her hand was still extended to take the one Phila had proffered.

He couldn't bear to listen to the Mad King. It couldn't end like this.

* * *

The hawk circled in the sky. Perhaps it was a vulture after all.

* * *

Lissa pulled at Frederick's arm.

"Do something! Please, do something, I can't, I can't-!" Frederick did nothing. "Lon'qu! Do something, please!" The swordsman seemed to have fixed his attention on the sky. Lissa couldn't believe it, not any of it. She pulled away from Frederick, screaming across the courtyard at Gangrel. Even she didn't know what she was saying.

All she did know was that she heard her sister shout above everyone else, and at that, she fell silent.

Her sister held both armies captive with her words. Only the Mad King and his aide were unshaken.

* * *

When she finished speaking, Emmeryn clasped her hands together and bowed her head. Oh Gods, she _couldn't_-

* * *

Frederick's eyes left the Exalt. Once more, he couldn't watch her. All he saw were the Risen and Lissa. He moved himself between them and held his lance tight. He would not be sick, he told himself resolutely. He was no rookie. He would not be sick. He would not give in. He would not give in.

Lissa had to live.

* * *

Lon'qu was transfixed. The green form was falling. The hawk flew away.

He should have known: it was foolish to believe that he could protect one whom he felt he had already failed once as a child.

* * *

Lissa wanted to scream. She tore at her hair and doubled over, hoping to be sick and failing. She was too far away to hear her sister hit the ground - _tell me she didn't hit the ground_ - but too close not to see, not to _see_ the damage that had been wrought.

* * *

Chrom kneeled.

"Emm…"

Gangrel laughed and laughed and laughed. "Well now!" He paused to catch his breath. "How disgustingly _noble_. And so lovely a fall! Here I thought death to be an ugly thing. I've never seen one fall so gracefully, in fact. And I've seen many fall."

* * *

Frederick turned and grabbed hold of Lissa. He pulled her onto the horse in front of him and kneed the beast as hard as he could. Her skirt kicked up because of that ridiculous hoop, and she was screaming and tearing at his armor, but he didn't care. He raced past Khan Basilio who was charging forward, yelling at Chrom to pull back.

He knew that his lord would withdraw, but he would not wait. His lady was in danger. He chose to be selfish.

* * *

"Follow the others!"

Khan Basilio's personal order was final. Lon'qu sheathed his sword and set off without a word. He followed the dust of Frederick's horse to where the Feroxi warriors were gathered. Many were injured. Some were not present at all.

Lon'qu kept going. He thought that if he hit the ocean, he might just keep running.

* * *

Lissa was a fountain of tears and babble. She couldn't form a coherent thought to save her life. She thought that she could save everyone, but _Emmeryn_ had fallen, and she'd done it by herself, and Lissa couldn't do anything to stop it.

The others caught up as they fled west. Maribelle tried to speak with her, but she turned her friend away. The noblewoman couldn't keep up, anyway: Frederick was riding fast. Lissa clutched at her knight for dear life. At some point, Khan Basilio pulled up alongside them, directing Frederick to slow down so that they could form a cohesive group. The knight took his time in obliging.

Lissa didn't care. She just held on and prayed a selfish prayer to turn back the hands of time and stop it all.

The rain began to fall. The truth was painful and obvious: Emmeryn was dead.


	10. Lacrimosa

Once again, this chapter took altogether too long to write. I had a very difficult time striking the right tone with Chrom in this one. He's just gone through hell and been dumped out on the other side without ceremony; I didn't know quite how to capture that particular brand of horror. Hopefully I've done it at least partial justice. Also, R&R make me write faster and better. Just saying. Usual disclaimers apply; enjoy!

* * *

The Khans of Regna Ferox led the army into a series of low ravines that criss-crossed the western portion of Plegia. Khan Flavia had explained why after talking strategy with Robin, but Chrom's mind couldn't hold any thought that didn't find Emmeryn at its center.

He had spent so long believing that Emmeryn could be saved that he hadn't been able to imagine any alternative. Then he had to watch her die. He had to listen to the man who killed her laugh about it. _Laugh_.

Gangrel's voice still echoed in his head.

_"THE EXALT IS DEAD! LONG LIVE HER MURDERER!"_

_"How disgustingly noble. And so lovely a fall! Here I thought death to be an ugly thing. I've never seen one fall so gracefully, in fact. And I've seen many fall."_

Thunder crashed and lightning flashed and rain dripped from the ends of Chrom's hair and landed in his eyes. The water stung, but not nearly enough. Chrom had the sick urge to feel pain: to ride into battle without care and feel the graze of the swords against his flesh. He wanted the danger and the slices and every last blow. Not enough to kill him, certainly; just enough to make him feel it. He scratched at his skin, clawing at his brand until it was rubbed raw and red. He thought of everything and nothing all at once, unable to concentrate or focus. He wanted to tear at his face and groan and pitch a fit like a child, but he could not. It would do no good. Emmeryn was dead. His older sister, his role model, his _friend_ - she was gone.

Her killer was still at large. Chrom's blood boiled to think of it.

Though it wasn't what Emmeryn would have done, Chrom had only one goal for the immediate future: Gangrel, the Mad King of Plegia, had to die.

* * *

"Milord, if I may have a moment…"

Chrom looked at Frederick. The knight stood tall and solemn, his hands tucked behind his back. They had stopped for a minute at the behest of Robin, who was busy reordering the troops. Chrom wanted to get back under way.

"Do you have to do that?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Hold your hands like that. Put them at your side. It makes me nervous."

Frederick's hands immediately dropped. The knight's face was as unreadable as always.

"Milord, I wish to speak with you."

"Later, Frederick. I have much to think about."

* * *

Chrom couldn't move fast enough. Though his mind raced, his body was sluggish. The rain made his clothes heavy and uncomfortable, the trapped water seeping into his skin. Inside his gloves, his fingers were prunes. His armor chafed his joints, pinching and rubbing blisters. It didn't help that the ground beneath his feet, once solid and baked from months without rain, had turned to mud deep enough that his boots threatened to lodge with every step.

Only the combined cajoling of Khan Basilio and Robin kept Chrom moving at the pace of the army. They, at least, had a plan. Frederick had tried to weasel his way in as well, but Chrom had ignored him. The knight could do nothing for him at the moment.

"Quickly!" Khan Basilio shouted, motioning at Chrom. "We're almost-"

Khan Basilio could not finish. Several Plegian fighters appeared from the shadows of the ravines before them. Chrom skidded to a halt and looked behind. There was the blast from a horn, and more Plegians appeared. The army was encircled. They had run directly into a trap.

The West-Khan cursed for all to hear. "Plegians! I knew it couldn't be that easy," he said. He pulled his axe from his back. "They're right in our way! We must fight!"

"Chrom! We need to split the army!" Robin cried. The Plegians had drawn weapons, but they showed no signs of moving. A commander was approaching from the front, but Chrom was paying him little attention as of yet. "If we fight this one-sided, we're doomed."

"What do you propose we do?" Chrom questioned, drawing his blade. "I've no mind to surrender. I'll fight alone if I have to."

"Ylisseans!" the Plegian commander shouted over the rain. "I am Mustafa, commander of this platoon. Surrender to me now and live!"

"Surrender? Sorry, I'm not familiar with the word," Khan Basilio sneered. To Chrom, he said, "Get your head screwed on straight, boy! I'll take the Feroxi guard to the rear. Don't get yourself killed!"

Mustafa raised both hands. "Emmeryn would not have wished for this to come to bloodshed," he spoke.

Chrom snapped, "Don't speak her name!" He raised his sword in the air. The Shepherds responded with a war cry. There could be no surrender now, Chrom thought. There could only be battle, and there could only be one end, one where Gangrel and all his followers lay dead in the dust.

* * *

The mud slowed everything down, but Chrom didn't allow that to deter him. He had a mission. This was it.

Around him, he was dimly aware of the Shepherds as they, too, fought their way through the ranks of the enemy. Whether they followed Robin's commands or not, Chrom had no idea. He, personally, didn't even know where the strategist was. He didn't care.

There was a soldier before him with a lance, and another with a bow, an arrow already nocked and primed. The arrow missed its target, blown askew by the wild winds, and Chrom dodged the soldier's lance, slipping his blade in between the wood of the lance and the soldier's arm. He sliced the limb from the body with a clean motion, then swept the blade back across the stunned man's chest. The archer retreated before Chrom could run him through, too.

Wyverns shrieked as they flew across the ravines. They were dangerous, but the beasts could not fit in the gaps. When one flew low, Chrom merely pulled his sword up, slicing across its belly. He was rewarded with a new coat of wyvern intestines, but it didn't matter. The rain would wash it away.

Chrom pushed forward. His body was beginning to feel the strain of the fight, the urge to settle in one place, but he fought it. There were still more Plegians to fight, more enemies to slay. Emmeryn would be avenged.

The Ylissean lord heard all of the commotion around him, but he had isolated himself from the noise. Whether the Plegians hurled insults at him or attempted to reason with him, he knew not. He couldn't even be sure if the sounds he heard were from the enemy side at all; the Shepherds could have called for him, but he would not have registered the sounds. He was deaf.

That was, he told himself, why he didn't move when he heard the whizz of the arrow.

It hit him in the lower chest on the right side, where he was least protected. The shock of it sent him reeling backwards. His eyes raced across the field before him. Near the top of the slope of the ravine, Chrom could see an archer. Was he shaking, or was the archer shaking, or was it the rain? Chrom felt light-headed and dizzy. His body fell backwards and he stumbled, tripping over his own feet. His sword left his hand.

"Not while I draw breath!"

Before his eyes could shut all the way, Chrom was forcibly lifted from the ground, pulled by the scruff of his cape. He was thrown unceremoniously across the front of a horse running at full speed.

"Frederick?"

The knight gripped a lance in his free hand. The other, Chrom realized, was the only thing keeping him on the horse. The older man's eyes narrowed. Someone screamed, and Chrom felt a horrible pull as the horse made impact - or, Chrom saw briefly, as the lance made impact. The archer's body was actually torn in two by the force of the lance. Frederick wheeled back around, the horse kicking up on its back legs. Chrom was smushed against his knight, and the pressure against his wound made him cry out.

"Hold on." Frederick sounded very far away. "Hold on, milord."

Chrom breathed out as Frederick readjusted him. The horse set off again on another mad dash, this time back downslope. More wyverns screamed. The rain had been cold, but Chrom no longer truly felt it. He slumped forward and closed his eyes.

* * *

Someone was crying.

"Emm… Oh, Emm…"

Chrom tried to open his eyes, but the light was too bright. He squeezed his eyes shut. He must have been staring at the sun.

He tried to focus on sound to determine where he was. He thought that he knew the voice of the one crying, but his memory was a little blurry.

"I should have died before allowing the Exalt to be captured," someone else said. "I have failed as a knight."

"No! Don't talk like that! It's not your- It's not your fault…"

Much closer, Chrom heard: "So what now, oaf?"

"Don't look at me-I'm not in charge!"

"Ugh. I picked a fine time to regain the full throne."

Chrom tried to open his eyes again. He did know these people. Names and faces appeared in his mind: there was Frederick, his knight; Khan Flavia, East Khan; Khan Basilio, West Khan, too, and…

"Look! He's waking up!"

The voice cracked, but it was laced with hope. A shadow stepped over him, shielding him from the light. Chrom looked up to see the most familiar face.

"Lissa?"

She grinned down at him. Her shoulders shook, and Chrom realized that she was crying, too. "You… YOU_ IDIOT!" _Chrom barely had time to scoot over to one side before the little girl threw herself at him, beating against his chest with her little fists. He felt horribly sore; what had happened again? He didn't remember all of it.

"HOW DARE YOU GO AND TRY TO DIE ON ME!" she screamed. "HOW DARE YOU! YOU'RE THE WORST BIG BROTHER EVER! YOU WERE GOING TO LEAVE ME ALONE AND I WASN'T GOING TO HAVE ANYONE AND I WAS-"

"Milady, please."

A heavy, gauntleted hand rested on the little girl's shoulder. She stopped her furious rant immediately, looking over her shoulder at the speaker. Frederick smiled down at her.

"But, Frederick-!"

"You'll have plenty of time to berate him for his carelessness later, milady," he said. Chrom thought that he was probably dizzy, but Frederick actually sounded as if he were being…_sweet_.

"But…"

"No more 'but's, milady. You said so yourself; he needs his rest. We can't have an army without a commander."

"Or a country without a king," Lissa added with a wink. "You're right. I'll find somewhere else to cause trouble, then." She was off before anyone could say anything to the contrary, giggling as she skipped along. Chrom's eyes travelled to the doorway she picked to exit. There was someone waiting there who she followed out.

Khan Basilio shook his head. "That girl's going to be the death of Lon'qu, isn't she?"

Khan Flavia just laughed. "You men are all alike. You don't know what to do with women who have balls. That kid's tough and persistent; if your man can't take that, he shouldn't have the right to be called a warrior."

"Perhaps you're right, woman."

"You only say that because you're worried I'll call you out, too."

"Hey!"

To Chrom, Khan Flavia said, "Listen, while you need your beauty rest and all that, there's a war to be fought. Our warriors are itching to fight. While we understand that your sister's sacrifice was in the name of peace, it has galvanized morale like you wouldn't believe."

Khan Basilio nodded. "Your Shepherds, too, have been anxious for you to make a full recovery. Your little strategist has been blowing blood vessels right and left, too. I've never seen anyone produce that many strategies in such a short period of time."

Chrom was dazed by all of this. "What happens now?"

Khan Flavia laughed again. Chrom thought briefly about telling her that he liked her laugh, but the reasonable part of his mind reminded him that he would likely receive a sharp blow as thanks for the compliment. "We plan, of course! We can't go marching without any guidance. The oaf here and I are meeting with your Shepherds and the sub-commanders of both our armies to plan the next step. Get your wits about you and meet up with us when you're ready."

"Right," Chrom replied. The two khans left together, bickering amongst themselves. Frederick remained by Chrom's side. Something appeared to be wrong with the knight. It took him a moment to realize: it was his arms that seemed odd. He had left them hanging at his sides.

Frederick cleared his throat.

"Milord, I wish to speak to you."

"What is it, Frederick?" Even to his own ears, Chrom sounded loopy.

Frederick sighed, his shoulders sinking. "It's for your own good, my prince," he spoke. Chrom arched an eyebrow. Gingerly, as if performing one of the annual military dress drills, Frederick raised one arm, the angle between forearm and bicep a perfect ninety degrees. He flattened his palm, drew a deep breath, and swiped his arm clean across, rotating from the shoulder. His open palm collided with Chrom's face, and his neck snapped to one side.

For all that Chrom didn't understand the full intricacies of language, and for all that he already felt hazy, this was something that he understood perfectly.


	11. Intransigence

Well then. This chapter was about as easy to produce as blood from a stone. The first part came easy enough, but then even I couldn't make it out of the ravines. Also, I realize that I likely have to up the warning on this bad boy. I'm getting a little too into the gory aspects of this war. Thoughts on whether I should/should not go from Teen to Mature for gore? **Also, and this is important: I am in dire need of a beta reader. Please contact me if interested for details.** That about covers everything I need to say. I am regrettably not associated with Nintendo and I do not own Fire Emblem. Please enjoy!

* * *

Frederick held his hand where the arc of the slap ended. He stared at it for a few moments. The hand was still attached to his arm. His arm was still attached to his torso. There was no force acting on his body, no third party dictating his motions. He had, in theory, been in control of the entire movement.

The knight resisted the urge to tuck his hands behind his back. He had no wish to anger his lord. Even so, keeping his arms by his sides proved difficult: it seemed that he could no longer control his appendages without complete concentration.

"My apologies, milord," Frederick said. He could not bring himself to sound as contrite as he ought to have been.

"Frederick?" Chrom asked, rubbing his cheek. The lord's head remained snapped back for a few moments as well. However, to his credit, the prince soon recovered.

"Yes, milord?"

"What was that for?"

Frederick sighed. "Reckless endangerment."

"What? Of who?"

"Yourself."

Chrom blinked at him without offering any kind of verbal response to indicate that he understood that to which Frederick alluded. The knight allowed his shoulders to sink under the weight of his armor. He had to remind himself that the young prince had only just regained consciousness as he asked, "Do you remember anything that happened when we were accosted in the ravines, milord?"

"I— Not exactly, no. We were surrounded by a Plegian force. I recall that much."

Frederick nodded. "You have been unconscious for two days, milord," he said. "You were badly injured."

"What happened?"

* * *

"Don't speak her name!" Chrom snapped. Frederick watched his lord raise his sword. All around him, a war cry went up, a resounding thunder that challenged the very skies to do better. Against his better sense, Frederick felt his own arm rising, his lance in the air and his voice surging alongside the others.

In front of him, Lissa quivered.

"Your rage is justified, Prince Chrom. But the meaning of your sister's final sacrifice was not lost on me." The emphasis on the "me" made Frederick suspect that the Plegian general thought poorly of the Ylissean prince's response. "I suspect many Plegians who heard her final words would say the same. If you lay down your weapons, I vow to protect you as best I can."

The Plegian general Mustafa appeared earnest, but Chrom was not paying the slightest bit of attention. His gaze was focused sharp, just as it had been out in the desert, and it betrayed a single-mindedness that Frederick feared was driven by none other than the base desire for bloodshed. At that moment, he was his father's son, if not the father himself, resurrected in his son's flesh.

Frederick thought that accepting the Plegian general's offer was likely the smartest tactic. The trembling form seated directly in front of him, however, served as a potent reminder: Chrom and Lissa were his charges. Before all else, even before common sense, he was to protect them, to advise them, and, even if they were to choose the wrong course of action, to see them through on their chosen path. With that knowledge, the only possible response was clear.

"How can we trust you after what your barbarous king has done?" Frederick questioned. "I think we shall take our chance with weapons in hand!"

"I suspected you would say as much," Mustafa said. "So be it, Prince Chrom. I shall endeavor to grant you a swift and dignified end." He raised his axe. The Plegian war cry, if it could be called such, was weak. It lacked the heart, the sheer desperation, of the Ylissean-Feroxi army. Frederick wondered how many had seen Emmeryn fall. He did not have long to consider it, though; all around him, the battle had begun.

"Hold on, milady," Frederick spoke, pulling at the reins of his horse. The hands that encircled him tightened in response. The princess's staff hit him several times in the back as he pushed the horse to a full gallop. He had to get her to safety before he could do anything about Chrom, and he knew exactly where he could take her to get her out of harm's reach.

* * *

Finding the Feroxi swordsman in the rain in the midst of the battle proved no mean feat. The Ylissean-Feroxi army split evenly to take on the Plegian forces in the front and the back, but the ravines were full of enemy soldiers, and the wyverns attacking from above further complicated matters.

Even so, with much patience, Frederick found him. Lon'qu was doing well for himself. Robin had set him to work fighting alongside Vaike, coordinating their movements to effectively block off one of the ravine's pathways. Lon'qu's seriousness was to be expected; Vaike's concentration, however, was above average. He made none of his usual boasts as he split shields and cleaved armor. The change was both welcomed and disturbing.

"Lon'qu!" Frederick called.

The swordsman felled the opponent immediately before him. He muttered to Vaike, "Cover me," before turning to the knight.

"Down you go, milady," Frederick said. Lissa shook her head no. "Please. Princess." She shook her head again and gripped him tighter.

"What do you need?" Lon'qu questioned.

"Protection. For her."

"I killed her assassins. My bodyguard services are over."

"Frederick…"

The knight shook his head emphatically. "I need to protect Prince Chrom. He is," he paused, "not himself. Please. You've kept her safe thus far."

"I can't protect anyone."

"You can, and you have. She's alive right now because of you. I need you do this now."

"No."

"I can't protect them both."

The admission was heavy. Vaike shouted at Lon'qu to hurry up. A swarm of Plegian soldiers had formed a phalanx down the ravine, and several archers had decided to put him in their collective line of sight. The rain came down harder. A wyvern screamed. Vaike shouted again, swinging his axe wildly. He could not hold the path by himself.

"Fine." Lon'qu pulled Lissa off the horse. She landed gracelessly on her knees in the mud. He proffered a hand. "Get up." She obeyed, pushing herself up with her staff. Frederick noted that she left his hand hanging until he dropped it. If he felt satisfied, well, it was only because he knew that both nobles would be cared for.

"Thank you," Frederick said. "Take care."

The Feroxi responded after Frederick had turned his back. "And you as well."

* * *

Chrom was far to the front of the party. He had hacked his way through the enemy line alone, Frederick noted. He had no backup, no help, and no discernible plan. At the very least, he wasn't following the one Robin had been shouting at all of the soldiers, trying to get them to fight as something of the cohesive army they claimed to be. It was worse than he'd expected.

A wyvern rider swooped down close to the lord as Frederick approached, the beast's jaws open. Frederick pulled a throwing axe from its holster and, with only a millisecond to aim, sent it careening toward the Plegian. Though it did not strike true, it managed to wound both rider and mount. Perhaps without even thinking, Chrom thrust his sword up and gutted the beast, sending it crashing into the base of one of the rock formations, shaking the fortress atop it.

"Prince Chrom!" Frederick shouted. The thunder saw fit to drown him out; he cried again, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. An arrow spooked his horse; it lifted into its back hooves, nearly throwing Frederick in the process. In the meantime, Chrom charged forward, decapitating an enemy soldier with several brutal hacks of his blade. Admittedly, the sight turned Frederick's stomach. This was not the young man Frederick knew and cared for.

Nonetheless, he would protect him. Frederick put his lance through a bumbling Plegian who had ducked into the ravine to get away from the lighting that Miriel summoned from a waterlogged tome. He turned just in time to see an arrow headed for Chrom. He blinked, and it had already lodged in the young lord's body.

Frederick did not think. He did not conscientiously make any plans. There was no logic, no structure, and no outline for what was to follow. There was only _rage_.

"Not while I draw breath!" he shouted, charging forward. He kicked his horse so hard that it took off at racing speeds, its shod hooves slipping in the slick of the mud. Frederick brought out his free hand to lift Chrom from the ground, pulling him by his cape. When he thought that he was likely far enough across the horse to stay on, he set him down and pulled him closer.

In his other hand, the metal of the lance seemed to bite into his hand through his gauntlet. His eyes zeroed in on the archer who had hurt his lord. He would be made to pay.

Frederick did not look away as he ran the man clean through. He saw as he tore through muscle tissue, ripping through veins and arteries and shattering bones. He felt the tug on his arm as the body resisted the sharp steel of the lance, and he did not relent. Mercy was not an option.

The body was torn clean in two. The soldier's blood, carried across the shaft of the lance by Frederick's momentum, found the chinks in his armor. He felt as it seeped through the fabric and wetted his skin.

Frederick pulled up on the reins as the horse approached a dead end. Once again, the beast went up on two legs, stumbling and nearly losing footing, before coming back down. In front of him, Chrom cried out in agony. When he looked up at Frederick, he did so without seeing him. His eyes had the glassy look of the dead.

"Hold on," Frederick ordered, pulling at Chrom until he sat on the horse properly. He dropped his lance. Not only could he not feasibly carry it and his lord, but it could no longer do any real damage: it had snapped in two. "Hold on, milord." He felt the young lord's pulse at his neck. It was erratic and slow. Frederick kicked the horse hard, sending it running again. With one hand on the reins and the other looped around his lord's waist, Frederick urged the horse to go even faster. No speed could be fast enough.

They needed a healer. Frederick had no idea where to find Maribelle, or even if she was still alive, but there was one woman with a staff who he was sure yet lived.

* * *

Luck was not with Frederick.

He cursed everyone and everything. He damned Plegia, the Mad King, all of his subjects, loyal and otherwise, and anyone else. He cursed Chrom's dead father, though he knew he would regret it later; he cursed his own father for responding to the army's call. He cursed himself.

He could not find the army. It was an _army_, and he could not find it.

Corpses littered the labyrinth of the ravines. Between the rain and the mud, they were already bloated and blue, the bodies swelling to bulge grotesquely through the armor. Frederick's horse trampled them underfoot. Some of them shrieked. Not quite dead, then, but close.

"Damn it!" Frederick shouted. "Where is everyone?"

He pulled his horse to a stop, sending it around in a circle. The rain blinded him. No enemies, but no allies, either. Where had they all gone?

A voice called to him from on the wind. He spun around again, holding Chrom up with one hand. The lord had stopped so much as groaning some time ago. Frederick was too frightened to check his pulse.

"Up here!"

Frederick looked up, squinting against the rain. Khan Basilio was waving violently from the back of a black stallion Frederick did not remember the army owning. He looked like he was going to fall off at any instant.

"My lord!"

"Is that your dashing prince? Where the hell have you been?"

"We need a healer!"

"The carriages have already left!"

"_We need a healer_!"

Khan Basilio looked over his shoulders. He shouted something Frederick did not understand, then turned back around to face him.

"You have to bring him up here! Follow me!"

Frederick rode as he directed. Khan Basilio led him to a steep path that took them to the level of the mountain fortresses Frederick had seen. Chrom moaned in agony when pressure was put on his wound. At least, Frederick thought bitterly, he was still alive.

"Is he even breathing?" Khan Basilio eyed Chrom with disgust.

"He yet lives, but damn it all, we need a healer!"

Khan Basilio turned to yell again, but there was no need. There was a horse and rider fast approaching. It skidded to a halt in front of them. Frederick's heart leaped.

"Chrom!" Lissa yelled, letting go of Lon'qu's waist. The Feroxi swordsman met Frederick's gaze and nodded once. The lady was unharmed.

"Come on, we have to move!" Khan Basilio shouted. Had he not been so close, his voice would have been lost to the raging winds. "There will be reinforcements!"

Lissa wasn't wasting any time. Lon'qu pulled her up close enough to close the biggest of the wounds on Chrom without dismounting. Frederick wondered where that hoop skirt of hers had gotten to.

He hadn't the time to ask. Chrom was no longer bleeding profusely, but he was still unconscious. There were shouts from down below, heard only in the absence of thunder. Khan Basilio led the way; the Ylissean army was still on the run.

* * *

Frederick blinked several times at Chrom.

"You were struck by an arrow," he said. Even to his own ears, his voice was lame.

"That's it?"

The knight breathed, timing each inhalation and subsequent exhalation. When four sets had passed, he nodded once.

"Yes, my prince. That is all."

Chrom rubbed his face where Frederick had slapped him. "Wait a minute. I get shot, and you slap me? That doesn't sound right."

Frederick smiled. "No, it does not."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Is my lord feeling better?"

Chrom scowled at him. "My ears are ringing and I'm seeing double. Either I'm weak, or your sword arm is much stronger than you let on in training practice."

"That is a detestable notion. I have never gone easy on anyone in my life."

The lord chuckled softly and shook his head. "You never change, Frederick."

"I try, sir."

Chrom's eye settled on Frederick's torso. "Although… Are you feeling all right?"

"I slap you and you ask me if I'm ill? Perhaps I was a bit strong—"

"No. It's just your carriage. You usually fold your arms behind your back." Frederick stiffened. Almost immediately after speaking, Chrom pursed his lips. Realization dawned in his eyes, and he looked away. "Oh." Frederick could think of nothing to say.

Chrom sighed aloud. "It's a poor excuse, but I have not been myself lately. Emmeryn, I…" He trailed off, unable to finish his thought. Frederick's hands itched to go behind him. He needed to ground himself, but he could not. He timed his breathing and waited.

"It's no excuse," Chrom said. "None at all. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I was…too emotional."

"The Exalt was your sister," Frederick spoke, the past tense resting heavy on his tongue. "It would be singularly aberrant if you did not react."

"I could have done better. I will do better." Chrom's tone was forceful. "What has happened to the army since I was…injured?" he asked, choosing his words carefully.

Frederick cleared his throat. "Executive power over the army was given to Khans Basilio and Flavia pending your recovery. Robin, too, has been directing much of our activity."

"Where are we now?"

"A fortress on the edge of the plains. Apparently, after they laid siege to the dungeons, Khans Basilio and Flavia sent a number of Feroxi wranglers to the ravines with some commandeered carriages. Whether we succeeded or not, they were to take us up north, out of the reach of the main Plegian army. Robin said it was a stroke of luck we found this fortress at all; it was marked on but a single map of the area. By the looks of things, it has been abandoned for some time now."

Chrom nodded. "I see. Where is everyone now?"

"At the moment, they are likely scattered around the fortress. Soon, though, they will all assemble in the audience chamber. It's the only place big enough for a full gathering of our forces." Chrom shifted, then fell backwards. His ears were flaming.

"Frederick?"

"Yes, my prince?"

"Can you take me there?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Chrom looked to one side. He stubbornly refused to face Frederick. "I cannot stand up."

Frederick's eyes widened. The young lord was clutching his side, his fingers gripping the flesh. He laughed, and the knight winced.

"I cannot stand," he said again. "Frederick, I don't think I can do this."

"Yes you can, milord," Frederick replied. He pulled one of Chrom's arms up and draped it over his own shoulders.

"They will laugh at me."

The statement was too childish for Frederick to take seriously. "My lord, please. There is not a man alive in this army who would dare mock their leader."

"I'm not the leader, Frederick," he said bitterly. It was the truth; Frederick could not argue with that.

"No one has to know," Frederick replied. "I will ask Lady Lissa to look at you before anyone else sees you. We shall go there first."

Chrom eyed Frederick as they began to move toward the door. "Is she all right?"

Frederick smiled. "She will be. In time. As will we all."

"Frederick?"

"It's nothing."

Chrom dragged his feet, but Frederick pulled him along regardless. "What aren't you telling me?"

"A great deal, I must admit," Frederick replied honestly, "though I believe it is to your benefit that I withhold such information."

"Frederick?" Chrom asked again.

"There's no helping it, milord," Frederick said. He kept his voice to a whisper. "Perhaps later."

Chrom was quiet for a moment. "Does this have to do with what you told me before? In the desert?"

Frederick made no response. He led them through several hallways and down a set of stairs. Chrom shuddered in the sudden light, and Frederick held a hand over his eyes. Light laughter came to them on fresh air.

"Oh, Frederick! You brought Chrom!"

Lady Lissa's smile was bright enough to make even the sun seem dull.


	12. Nightshades

So, college has started back up for me again, which means that I'm going to have far less time to work on this than I'd like. I'm going to keep updating, of course, and I'm going to do my best to keep up a (semi-)regular schedule, but I can make no promises. One way or another, though, I will finish this. **In other news, I'm still in need of a beta reader. If interested, please contact** **me. **That about covers things. Usual disclaimers apply; enjoy!

* * *

Khan Basilio's half-baked plan to escape the ravines via carriages had been strange enough. The coaches had clearly been intended for use by Plegian royals: the interiors were all gilt and red crushed velvet, the seats likely stuffed with goose-down. They had been frankly unnerving to see after fighting in the bloody muddy battlefield that was the ravines.

Finding an abandoned fortress in the middle of absolutely nowhere had been even odder. The building literally stood, as Robin keenly pointed out, in the middle of the vastest of the Plegian plains. There were no outposts stationed around it, no external watchtowers, and no towns. The fortress stood by itself, alone in a sea of grass.

The potato patch, however, took the cake, to use one of Lissa's expressions. As a matter of fact, Lissa had been the one to find it.

"Hey, look out!" the little princess called. Lon'qu dutifully looked in the direction that she indicated, though with no great haste or attention. She didn't sound frantic. His eyes fell on her target. A short distance from where they stood on the inside of the outermost wall of the fortress, there was a large, apparently overgrown patch of greenery. All of the plants were identical. It seemed to Lon'qu that it was intentional.

"What?"

"Isn't that poison ivy? You don't want to touch it, TRUST me." She winked. The expression sat poorly on her face; she had stopped crying mere minutes ago. She cried a lot these days.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? It's poison ivy!"

Lon'qu sighed. Under any other circumstances, he would have retreated long ago, going back to mind his own business, but orders were orders. Even if, he rued the thought, those orders didn't come directly from the man in charge. "What does it do?" he questioned.

Lissa rubbed her swollen eyes. She tried to stare at him in what was likely supposed to be amazement, but her eyes were too dry from the tears. She had put on a brave face when her brother had woken up, but now that they were separated, she had allowed herself a moment to fall to pieces. Thankfully, it hadn't lasted long. "It irritates your skin, silly! You get a horrible rash. It's difficult to get rid of, and very distracting. Not that I would know anything about it or anything." She winked again.

Lon'qu grunted in response. The princess was an imp. He had no doubt that she got into her fair share of trouble. He watched as she walked over to the plants, swaying slightly. Clearly, Frederick's attempts to get her to sleep had been in vain.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Hey, you wouldn't have a pair of gloves, would you? Heavy ones?" Lon'qu considered ignoring her, but there was no one else in the immediate area, and the knight had expressly forbidden him from leaving the girl alone.

"What do you need them for?"

"I want to pick one of these leaves and get a closer look at it. I always end up getting breakouts from these things. I'd like to know how to identify them in the future, you know?"

"I have no gloves." He looked at the plants. "Regardless, I do not believe that this is the plant about which you speak." The swordsman crouched to get a better look. He ran a finger across the edge of one of the leaves, ignoring Lissa's frantic cry not to touch them. "Potatoes."

"Huh?"

"Potato plants." Lon'qu extracted one of his knives from its scabbard and began to dig. He was aware that Lissa was watching him, crouching close to him as he moved the blade deep in the loose dirt. He thought that he ought to tell her to back up, to give him space, but he breathed deeply and remained silent. Give her a victory. She _had_ been crying.

Lon'qu made a jagged circle around one of the plants, easing it to a cone where he thought the base might be. Gingerly, he pulled back. If he was right, the plant wouldn't be too fragile, but there was no sense in ruining a potential foodstuff from carelessness.

"Oh!"

"Potatoes," Lon'qu said again, holding up the newfound bounty. He examined the potato, turning it over in his hands. It felt firm enough, and it was the right color. It was the right time of year for them, too; at least, where he came from. Originally.

Lissa leaned over to get a closer look, putting one hand on his shoulder for stability. He took a sharp intake of breath. "Get back!"

Lissa jumped backwards from him with a pout. He glared at her, then turned his attention back to the potatoes. He thought for a moment, his scowl turning to a sharp frown.

"This is bad."

Lissa's jaw dropped. "Bad? What are you talking about? That is, I didn't mean to get so close to you— Well, that's a lie, I did it on purpose, but—"

"Not that. This."

"What, the potato? Is it rotten?"

"No."

"Then what do you mean? I haven't had a potato since we began marching! We should dig them all up!"

Lon'qu controlled his exhale to refrain from growling. "No," he said sharply. "Not the potatoes themselves." He stood up, brushing himself off.

Lissa groaned and stomped her foot. "_What_, then?"

He looked down at her. He could try explaining — that potatoes required loose soil and consistent water, so they could not thrive by themselves in an abandoned fortress, so someone had to have been there recently, tending to the plants, and they were likely Plegian, so they were in danger — but he decided against it. There was no point in making her worry more.

"It's not important. Where's your knight?"

"Frederick is probably with my brother." Lissa's face changed again, and she looked away. Lon'qu wondered if she'd resume crying. He decidedly did not want that to happen. If nothing else, she was too loud.

"Let's find him, then."

"To show him the potato?"

"Yes."

Lissa nodded. He supposed that she had worked something out in her mind, something to explain what they were getting ready to do, but because she didn't speak of it, neither did he. There was no further need for excessive conversation anymore. He owed her nothing.

They walked for a while in the same silence. A few times, Lon'qu believed that he saw her reaching for his hand, but she withdrew every time. Something was bothering her. Lon'qu felt, for lack of a better word, itchy.

"Um, Lon'qu?" Lissa asked. He couldn't hold in a sigh. So much for silence.

"What?"

"I was just thinking," she said, kicking a rock as she went. "Now that you've foiled the plot, I guess your bodyguard duty is over." She paused. "I mean, I know Frederick told you to look after me while he takes care of Chrom. But, once he's all better, we're done walking together like this, aren't we?"

Lon'qu had no desire to lie. "I see no reason to continue."

Based on her reaction, this was not the correct answer, if any response could be said to be such. "Yeah, but," she reasoned, "we were finally getting close. I'd be sad to lose that now."

She looked up at him with hope. He scoffed. Getting close? That was the last thing he wanted to do. The knight seemed inclined to foist the little noblewoman off on him whenever her brother got into trouble, but he wanted nothing more to do with any of it. He _could not have_ any more to do with it. His work here was done. Whenever Khan Basilio left, so would he, and without a single backwards glance.

"Do not lay this at my feet," he said sternly. They walked the inner portion of the fortress now, the stone walled corridors blending into maddening similarity. "I told you to keep your distance."

"Yeah, but…"

Lon'qu spared a glance at Lissa. She looked as if she were about to cry again. Of all of the _ridiculous_—

"I…suppose," the swordsman spoke, his teeth clenched, "we could still…chat." The word was difficult for his tongue to form. He was not overly fond of slang—at least, slang that didn't amount to an effective curse. "If you want, from time to time."

The princess brightened immediately. The swordsman narrowed his eyes as he looked upon her. He had just been manipulated by a woman half his size. He mentally berated himself. This was beyond idiotic. He had a sinking feeling in his gut that told him he'd just condemned himself to death by cleric. "You mean it?!" she cried, lunging at him. He froze in place as she hugged him. He squeezed his arms to his sides, willing the moment to end, but she had attached herself to him and refused to extricate herself until she was ready. "Oh, yay! Thanks, Lon'qu!"

Lon'qu knew that he was slipping around the little princess, dropping his carefully fabricated guard too much, but he hadn't known how bad things had gotten until words spilled forth from his mouth unbidden: "I thought you were afraid of me."

All movement stopped. Lissa's arms remained just as tight around him, but she had stopped squeezing. Lon'qu wondered if this was what a statue felt like up close.

Gingerly, Lissa stepped back. She kicked at the floor, scuffing her boots against the stone. "Let's just not talk about that, OK?" Her hands were behind her back, but he could see her staff as she shifted it from side to side. "Let's just go talk to Frederick about potatoes and pretend like…" She trailed off, her hair falling from her shoulders to hang at either side of her face.

Lon'qu thought for a long moment. He would like to talk to Frederick about potatoes. That was, in fact, the most prudent course of action. It was pressing.

He realized, though that when it came down to it, he really didn't want to go anywhere just yet. He damned himself several times over. He could not deny, he was _displeased_ that the tiny woman feared him. She should fear her enemies, she should fear the undead, but she should not fear _him_.

When had that changed?

Lon'qu's voice caught in his throat. The strangled sound that he made drew Lissa's gaze. Her eyes were wide, her pupils nearly eclipsing her irises. He'd seen her eyes like that before: in the village, when he had finished with her attackers, she had looked at him that same way. He knew that look well from animals and foes alike: it was a look on the face of the hunted, of those about to die who knew that the inevitable final stroke was on its way.

It was the look of pure, unadulterated fear.

"Let's find your knight, little one," Lon'qu said finally. The words were awkward on his tongue, but they were all that would come out.

"No."

"What?"

Lissa had turned around. "I want to go back outside."

"We need to find Frederick."

"I don't care."

Lissa started walking. When he realized that she was going to move whether he followed or not, he jogged after her until he could match her pace. She was pushing herself, not quite running yet, but moving fast enough that Lon'qu actually had to work a little to stay abreast of her.

"I'm going back outside," Lissa said defiantly. "You can follow me if you want to. I don't care."

"Lissa."

She stopped walking. Lon'qu wheeled around to face her, using his momentum to plant himself before her. She was looking at the ground as if it held all of the answers.

"Lissa."

He could see her biting her bottom lip, but not much else. Her shoulders were shaking. One of her hands went up to rub at her eyes and came back down wet. The other hand soon followed suit, the pair hiding her face. Her staff clattered to the ground.

Lon'qu breathed out and braced himself. Lissa was crying.

break

Lissa had been crying in the ravines. Lon'qu had seen the tears through the rain when Lissa stood on her own, ignoring his offer to assist her in standing up, and Frederick rode away. Rather than offering comfort, he had ordered her to get rid of her hoop skirt so that she wouldn't sink into the mud. She had obliged, leaving the iron cage to rust in the rain.

break

Lissa had cried when Chrom had been loaded into a carriage, his unconscious body no longer bleeding but still in poor shape. Lon'qu knew what she feared: she had lost one sibling already. To lose another would be a burden too heavy to bear. She had ridden behind him on one of the commandeered horses, and Lon'qu had felt her shaking behind him. He had ordered her to stay still lest she spook the horse. She had complied.

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Though he had not seen it, Lon'qu had heard her crying late at night. She had gone to seek solace with Frederick, and he had heard them through the open door. The knight was doing his best to soothe her with gentle words, and it seemed to help, but the little girl in his arms was just that, and she was frightened. Lon'qu pretended to hear nothing, and in the morning, that particular set of tears had dried. He felt the first pangs of the emotion he learned to recognize as guilt.

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Lissa had cried once again when Chrom woke up. These tears were of a different nature; she was joyous and hopeful, smiling even as the tears ran down her face. Her brother had recognized her and called her by name. No one had anticipated so speedy a recovery, even if he had been delirious and unable to so much as slurp gruel and sleep for the past few days. Lon'qu had stood outside the door while she cried until Frederick kindly asked her to give her brother some space. At the very least, Lon'qu had been there, but by the time she reached him, the tears had abated. In that moment, Lon'qu realized that Lissa was fully capable of moderating her tears; she had just felt comfortable enough around him to let them out in full force.

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Her crying resumed briefly when they reached the outermost wall of the fortress. Lissa had wanted to see the sun; she had looked at the skies and wept. The Exalt's name and Chrom's name had fallen rapidly from her lips as she oscillated between grief and delight, unable to reconcile a loss and a triumph within such a short period of time. Lon'qu had wanted to do something to help. He knew not what, though, and so he did what he knew: he ignored her. Eventually, the tears stopped falling.

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Then she'd found a potato patch, and it had all gone downhill from there.

There was no helping it now, he supposed. He had grown attached. As Lissa stood before him, her hands covering her face, he decided that he could at the very least try.

He reached out with both hands and pulled the little girl towards him, his movements jerky and uncertain. He let his arms meet behind her, his hands resting comfortably at his elbows. The child was _tiny_.

"Do not weep."

"Lon'qu… I don't know what to do," Lissa said softly. "Chrom's going to be all right, and Frederick's going to take care of us, but Emm isn't…" She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. "I want to be happy, but I feel like I can't. I'm afraid of everything right now."

"I cannot pretend to be what I am not," he said. "But I can swear to you that I shall never harm you. I will protect you from all that I can." The little girl looked up at him. "That is my promise to you."

"I don't want anyone else to die." She squeezed him tightly. "I'm afraid of death. I want to go home. I wish this had never happened."

Lon'qu hesitated before releasing one hand to stroke the back of her head, tracing a strand of hair. "I wish that for you, too."

They stood like that for a long time, Lissa resting her head against his torso, Lon'qu anchoring her in place to keep her from falling over. Eventually, they returned to the outer courtyard, the swordsman carrying both staff and princess. Lon'qu rationalized it all, telling himself that it made sense to wait in one place so that if Frederick came looking for them, as he invariably would as the time for the army's assembly approached, they could easily be located. He knew better, though. If it was what Lissa wanted to do right now, then damn it all, why not. The potatoes could wait. Lon'qu could — and would — protect her if anything went wrong.


End file.
